there's a place

there's this place i belong to
where i walk barefoot on graves and swim in the dark and touch the honest world.
it's the place i'll never forget. it's the place i'll always return.

wild world

baby, it's a wild world. hold on tight or you'll lose your way.
baby, i can't fight your wars. hide a knife in your boot and breathe.
baby, it's been a long time.

baby, it's a wild world.

a storm like this

i've never seen a storm like this before. there's lightning every night and i can taste thunder in the mornings. the clouds are purple and the sun is taking a break from the world. i'd live like this forever, inside the storm.

someday

someday i will ask you if i was a disappointment.

books and a water glass

i spent my entire paycheck on books and organic tea and drinks last night. i found calvino and monroe and others. or maybe they found me.
we met by the flower shop and walked the streets at midnight. i put my last two crumpled dollars under my water glass.
i have two dimes, some pennies, and a bunch of british coins in my wallet. but there are six new books on my shelf and i'm happy.

Your green-eyed girl

turn around and look at me. i'm seven letters and a smile, i'm your green-eyed past, your blonde-haired girl.

4 am summer

day four and i've gotten used to missing you. i'm learning to ignore the pain in my stomach and constriction in my chest: it's a part of me now. you're a part of me now.
it's my summer morning. 4 am just like i always told you. it's my time and you're not here. you're in baltimore where there is no 4 am light and no thunder air.

not like there is here.

i wish i could have you forever

"i wish i could have you forever."

sequence still sparkles when the sun goes down. sunglasses are glamour and glitter is magic. they sing from the porch; be strong, be strong. the beach is caught in their tangled hair and the salt is in their skin. blanket laughter and bedtime secrets and eyelashes dusting cheeks.

i wish i could have you forever, just like this.

spray paint memories

it wasn't the kind of day for a man to die.

spray paint on sidewalks, pictures in boxes, faded artist statements... you're inside it all.
they'll toast to you tonight. it's your memorial, boy.

piano in the river

these are the nights you remember, the ones with old friends and good music.

we sat on the hood of my car and talked about travel. under planets like fireflies, we talked about the world. we shared blankets and beer in the dark. we listened to piano and violin under the lamppost. small under the sky, our words fell into the river and we knew they meant something there; they'd been waiting to sink to the bottom and claim it. it's been seven years; the words are piling up. soon they'll reach the surface and everyone will know. everyone will know.

these are the nights you remember, the nights you remember why you're alive.

save pompeii

we found home that day.

we were the first to cherish those lost ruins, the only ones to feel the secret city beneath our feet. we were explorers. we were natives. we were friends.

we were heroes,
saving the city thousands of years too late.

lost affairs

.paint-stained denim and midnight walks and whispers into palms.
.2 a.m. coffee and secret ambitions and laughter stumbling into tomorrow.
.knotted ribbons and sporadic escapes and the inevitable returns.
.ocean afternoons and galaxy nights and storm mornings.
.kissing friends and dances with strangers and love affairs with art.
.passion under fingernails and music in pockets and just one reason to keep going.
.pebbles at windows and smoking at sunrise and goodbyes with closed eyes.

there are things we have to give up. cigarettes and alcohol and sugar and old friends. we always thought it'd be hardest to give up the bad habits. but no, it's you.
goodbye, old friends.

teach me

teach me how to kill and how to hate teach me how to destroy it all show me how to make love and how to die show me the sea on your doorstep tell me about candles and sand and castles and God tell me everything i don't want to hear

ink-stained sheets and melted snow

.i.

There's an old receipt in my pocket, from that road trip last summer. Sometimes I pretend it's a picture of you… I like to think I can carry you around with me. (You can live in my pocket if you want.)

.ii.

Sometimes I try to speak, but the words dissolve in my throat. I think the sea witch stole my voice. I bet she keeps it in a shell around her neck. I don't know what I traded for it, but I really hope it wasn't a prince.

.iii.

You want to sleep in the snow, but I can't let you. It's the kind that you'll fall asleep forever in; you'll never wake up. Stay with me, just for a little while. I can hear the snow melting outside, all the icicles have disappeared; it's almost over, stay with me, just for a little while longer, this winter is almost over.

.iv.

Ink-stained sheets and callused fingers. He died with a paint box by his side; I'll die with a pen in my hand. I'll put words in the Atlantic and wait for them on the other side; they'll be buried in the sand and I'll find them someday. Ink-stained sheets and callused fingers, it's only natural.

twothousandsix

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
place i still call home (love)

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
people i thought i knew (just forget)

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
goodbyes i wasn't prepared for (gone forever)

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
months i never want back (keep smiling)

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
nights in the lake (naked under stars)

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
of us will always be there (wait for summer)

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
missed calls (can't forget)

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
circles we walked at midnight (never got dizzy)

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
months i've known you (surprise me)

.onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten
secrets i haven't told (not meant for you)

it'stheendoftheyear.

aphrodite watches me sleep

Aphrodite watches me from her hiding place in the corner, between the painted parrot and stack of firewood (it'll never be burned). She watches me sleep on the brown-and-yellow flowered couch, and her shy smile matches mine.
I remember when the scratches on the Bill Cosby albums would lull me and my cousins to sleep; now it's the sound of Grandma's television and machines (she's still breathing).
The clock is stopped just before 12, this room is always on the brink of midnight. There's forgotten literature on the shelves and Grandma's articles are crawling out of the dust (I'll be a writer like her maybe someday.)
She calls for him, glasses of wine and seltzer, she's always calling for him. He's wearing the "Beth Ann shirt", the one he wore the first time he held me (it's mine, but I let him wear it). Tell me stories, I'll listen, tell me more.
There's a potpie tin on the side of the bathtub with ashes and crumpled cigarettes in it. (This is where I come from, did you know?)

Aphrodite smiles at me with white marble lips and steps into the cloth she's been holding for so long. I'm content; I am sleeping.