fragment: smelt summer

smelt summer into a heart-shaped mold and call it love
that cracks at the first hint of frost. winter has wrapped
a thread around my spine and when i press my fingers against
the glass, webs of ice flicker through, until i can break
everything in the room just by breathing–staggered breath
that comes like a deathbed canticle in december. you think
the thaw will save you. but you will only drown.


fairytales for adults

knick knack patty wack give a dog a benadryl
this old man’s got a tab of acid and an electric drill
one, two, buckle my shoe, three, four shut the door
on my fingers again and again till i can’t feel no more
hands that once held your sweet shape like the moon
that no cow jumped over, just a razorblade at midafternoon
it cuts and it cuts like the sharp edge of a story told
that delights young children and horrifies the old
because we know what people are really capable of
and that the train is coming and all it takes is a single shove
to end the dream and wake up with someone sucking your face
and it’s not a prince, it’s just empty fucking space
maybe one day we’ll shake off the drug of the happy ending
close the book for good and get back to living
and all the tears will crawl back into our eyes
and there will be no more lies, no more lies.

dust mote serenade

my heart is made of poppy and there is a prism lodged
in my throat. when i speak i make rainbows. a rhombus
of light on a closed eyelid, a dream half-articulated
in a sigh. your eyes are watercolor blue but when they
are next to my yellow skin and red lips they bleed to
brown. a kiss turns to a fractal, a memory to a beam
of sunlight streaming in through the slatted blinds.
i promise you this: find the mote that i sit and wait
upon and all of the tears you have cried will turn
to diamond.

renounce the sky

i cut open the ocean with a razorblade and swallowed its blue
heart whole, it beats inside me now a cold pulse, a metronome
for how time passes engulfed in thoughts of what came before
all this land. i could not stand on water; you could not pull
me up fast enough from your languid repose in the clouds.
the mermaids all laughed and combed their hair while i ran my
fingers over my shaved head and wished for just one bubble of
air that might contain fragments of words that you once spoke
to me. but you never did say those words, and such wishful
thinking only gets me a lungful of salt tinted pink with blood
where the tip of the crescent moon pricked me as you swung
low over my sweet coffin coming to carry me home to a slit
in the ocean where i can forget your face and renounce the sky.