Bones to Cartilage 

Alone after her day
cradles her third glass
tagged by friends this time
she understands control

cut love from your head
it doesn’t belong there anyways
paste it to your heart even though
it hurts as much as they say

pick ideas like I pick my skin
it leaves scars where my worry lives
distorted close ups turn life left
in the mirror

limits on lower lips
grasped by spotted teeth
pierced drips of frustration
tinted memories turned vignette

melt into your couch
drink to accessorize you
deserve it after a long week
on your screen that’s made your
weak bones relax to cartilage 

his hand on her skin
where backs arch free
to park myself in your skin.

Advertisements

Don

In her sleeves drowned
bees drift in freeze dried hair
Someday fear will come
she will not die when it’s fair

When words fester 
chaos can be counted on
to show up dressed as grief
Curled into sleepless nights

under your sleeping bagged eyes
uncomfortably restricted thoughts
tossed dreams against your lashes

As she begins to absorb your passion
clarity and strength
emboldened in hilarity 
honoured to carry you
under her eyes
sleep well
wise friend.

Pot Bound

My outgrown tangled roots
are bound for a bigger pot
always

Tradition states my choice…
and it’s two sizes too small
as they say
so the moment I’d settled
my roots had already grown out
left most untidily tangled

To be frank, I’m tired
after two times too many plantings
my leaves droop as I fight for space
against myself, to be sure

but I’m frighted of a too big pot
one in which I might get lost
what if the edge is far away?
so I can’t find it
to sit decisive-like and say
“I’m clearly too big for this pot
I must make myself smaller”

Alice

My heart has a double beat
occasional and reckless
I call her Alice
She’s normal, they say
until she starts to sing

I’m not ready to listen
but she stays with me
until I cough her back to sleep
scared of what she’ll tell me

she’ll say;
what I know of truth isn’t
what i interpret in others isn’t
or what I believe of myself isn’t

real

Oh Alice

Arm Hairs

Under the yellow moon
shadows are mistaken for life
our heartbeats set a marching tune
leading us to exposed, fatal heights

We stand on the edge arms raised
palpable darkness arrests our bodies
In alignment without praise 
our  arm hairs whisper love stories

And when they turn to hold eachother
of course  they’re already falling
emboldened by stars as their cover
Like entwined comets exhaling