it climbs & tightens my throat until i can no longer breathe anything but what it wants me to breathe,
(& i would rather my face simply turn blue.)

oh epinene, your beautiful heart.

i am ready, i am ready, i am ready

come outside with me.

i know it will not ever be perfect
but my hands will offer up as much as they can
to you

things i am learning :
a) i would rather have my heart break under the strain of overuse than decompose due to disuse.
b) often, i think it is not being hurt that scares me. it's being wrong that makes me afraid. & that, in turn, makes me disgusted with myself.

"We dream of being infinite, we dream of resolution, we dream to give our hearts away." - Douglas Coupland

God bless late night productivity.

my crayons will not stay within the lines of this book you have given me.

"take your canvas everywhere."

i wonder about the way our bodies heal themselves quickly & magically but our minds stay stubbornly broken. i imagine myself a pile of broken bones in the corner of a room with perfection within my heart & head & i guess it isnt really the cure i am seeking.

the remedy is in the movement of time, the way my heart is being sewn up by invisible hands [while my own are tied behind my back]. the peace that is in breaking apart. & when my mind is broken up into pieces truth slips within the empty spaces to mend my thinking. & when my heart is rearranged i see the way hope fills in the gaps.

we are sitting back to back on a chair
& your spine is scraping against mine
the notches are aligning
(it makes me so afraid)
i push my shoulders into your ribs
& lift my eyes to the ceiling
my dry lips opening wordlessly
my fingers stretching out
as the flimsy curtain tries to hide
the life outside the window
as if it would be ashamed
to meet my gaze
as i would be ashamed
to meet yours

'we dont touch
we just span time.
this is you & me.
in love.
spanning time.'

i am hoping for an explosion
but for now there are tiny fireworks in my pathway
the way the traffic lights reflect on the wet pavement
a double signal of which way to go
whether i should yield
my car is locked up tight but the windows are open
songs stream out into cold air
hitting buildings & returning to my mouth
i take it all in & push it all out
in a beautiful cyclical pattern
the yellow line is swaying & i know it's ready to dance with me
it's an active sort of waiting that i am doing
enough motion so that my eyelids welcome the warmth of sleep
& i will dream of firecrackers again tonight

sometimes i feel there may be a frog in my heart
& she's pushing up
up along the lining of my throat
trying her hardest to come out of my mouth
i am pressing my lips together tightly

you arent the healthy
& the healthy is what i am needing
oh i know i cant take it away from you or any of them
i just want to sit beside someone who will hold my hand firmly enough until i start to thaw
& it melts in me & cascades through my veins
eskimos riding in kayaks
everyone knew the day was coming
or maybe no one thought it ever was
i cant tell whether i'm more doubt than hope
oh my clever love you havent done your sums
it's all in error
& i am walking to school with a bag on my shoulder
& i am passing birds & trees & apples
& it's like innocence again
tell me who you are in ten minutes & i'll decide if you're worth the time
i just want to remember things i have been forgetting on purpose
& forget things i have been remembering on accident
i am scribbling on paper & i'm learning to draw
& i'm waiting for them to lift my body & carry it to where there's health again
where there are eyes that work
& hands that will not cover them

i wonder how much of what we call love is really only familiarity.

my dreams run together in a strangely themed stageshow
every night a familiar face becomes foreign

we were rowing & rowing & rowing
& we were finally getting somewhere sparkling
& the wind picked up & blew our coats up into our faces
so it was hard to see
but we knew we had to keep going
so we did & we do
& i know you are still next to me in this boat
& there isnt that much else i can say with such certainty

i can be the ship, or i can be the water. but i can never be both at the same time.

they played the song again & i remember what it had done to him inside of me before, i remember how i let him leave & it was easy, i was free & i was somewhere else, or at least on the way to someplace different. so i hoped maybe this time you would leave me, & i stood with my eyes closed & i felt you rise up out of me & as i stood you hovered overhead like a tornado or a hurricane & the wind was blowing even though we were all inside & it was probably just a few seconds but it felt like an hour as i waited for you to just fly away. & at last you stretched your arms out & i thought that you would be gone if i opened my eyes. so i did & i felt you re-enter my wasted frame, pushing against my ribs & putting your hands on my stomach.

i want you but i dont.

[this gave me shivers...]

Two artists met one time within
a little wood. Each brought
his finest painting stroked by
his complete uniqueness. When
each revealed his canvas to the
other--they were identical.

So once in every solar system
there are two fingerprints alike.

But only once.

-calvin miller

my heart is filled up with people who dont exist any longer.

an undivided heart is the goal
& mine is cut into sections
sometimes i held the knife
sometimes you did
(and you are millions of people now)
i'm being sewn up slowly
every time the needle breaks skin i cry out
gritting my teeth so i wont push the hand away
as i have done before
(& will undoubtedly do again)
& i try to take the the thread
into my own unsteady hands
forcing my crookedness onto my heart
my crooked heart cant keep the time
i hand it back & wait
(be still be still be still)

well, you're no saint
& i'm no genius

because i dont yet know beauty
the fireflies circle with encoded speech
welcoming a lover
he flies above her
twilight finds the angels and pulls them from our skin

because i dont yet know death
the trees wait with their fruit-laden arms
forming a stairway
blushing with midday
summer finds the apple and pulls it from our mouths

i am afraid. again.

with our medicine & synthetically derived appetities, technological advances & communicational breakdowns, high speed connections with disconnections just as fast, we are irreparably disjointed. i stood in the x-ray machine for a long time, the doctor forgot i was there or perhaps my ears were not tuned to his instructions. but i saw on the wall the inverted black & white of my spine & it was curving & twisting & held together by something i didnt recognise. there are things inside of all of us that we wouldnt recognise if someone reached into our bodies & pulled out the contents, setting them on our coffeetables or bedroom floors. they have told me time & again that i shouldnt be bothered with it, but i try to forget & my heart swings around like a tetherball, making circles & tying me tight to something intangible but nearly perfect.

& one day i imagine that there wont be anything left to say & i guess i would like to know if anyone is okay with that. well, mostly just if you are okay with that. are you?

"I'm here with the cause
I'm holding the torch
In the corner of your room
Can you hear me ?
And when you're dancing and laughing
And finally living
Hear my voice in your head
And think of me kindly"

when i came home your music was still in my car but i turned it off. it will stay off for some time now. it makes me a little sad but a little hopeful, & when you divide the two i think it ends up to be words not numbers. & i have my guesses but for now my mouth is stuck together because they keep feeding me something but i think it's time to fix myself instead of someone else.

building something out of nothing
or
building nothing out of something?

last night i had a somewhat frightening dream. i dont remember most of it very clearly. what stands out is that there was a man dressed up, moving around. i knew he was a marionette, and, when i looked, i could see the strings. he was being pulled. whoever was controlling him spun the strings around his neck & moved him to where he would step off & hang himself. several of us watched in horror. he stepped off the edge, then dangled in the air, dead. then the dream rewound somehow, & the marionette was just dancing, spinning, overcoming any problems & taking control. i dont really know whether there was any meaning in that, or it was just leftover imagery from my subconscious.

she used to but not anymore & i wonder about the way people spend their first few years trying to lose their innocence & the rest of their lives trying to get it back.

i am going to crawl through the old & i think it will help.

i dont have it. i just dont.

as it is already, there is an echo in my head.
& now this?

because i am too polite & you are too alone.

when He pulls the inside & the outside into a music box i leave it on my dresser to watch it spin & let the tune soak into my skin becoming more & more transparent i guess i wake up or at least stop cowering in the corner like a scared little girl.

i am hoping to experience instead of expect this time.

wings & blood & pasted spine
the story pulls me word by word
into a sort of unearthly being
not walking & certainly not flying
hovering in hope against hope
if i kissed him i would see through him
so i wait until i solidify
i fit into corners & press my back flat against the wall
would i could spin a cocoon
slipping into rest until i hear the voice that slices through my bones
'wake up o sleeper'
the light will shine upon my skin
veins visible to show what has been pumping in circuits
across my brittle body
when i am caught at last
inside an unplanned hand or two
my mouth will move again
words now long forgotten
but lacing their fingers around the edges of my dreams
it's all very nice but tonight i am only perched on a chair in a house on a street like any other

i have been coming to all of these conclusions but i dont really have a place to put them. i think for now they just need to stay inside of my mind. maybe when i am older, wise enough to write a book.

we laugh at death;
but it is because we are afraid.

i told you already,
i am not a goddamn statistician.

& the mood swings must be located at a pleasant park
because i just keep coming back & keep coming back &...

you love like a knobby-kneed schoolgirl.

you move & i guess i am too slow in following
well, can you really blame me?
this new form of vertigo
this new form of rest

cant you see that i am desperately afraid of anything that is beautiful?

i am ashamed to admit that i am the only person who seems to be able to break my heart.

my beautiful friend
with your love & with your liquor
you havent felt a need for anything further
the season is changing
look through the windowpane
we have fogged with the curses
coming out of our loose mouths
i have seen a miracle or two
and whenever i am rummaging through my drawers
i look at the lists i have made
& wish they were written in language
you hadnt already memorized & forgotten
but then again you always were a rather lovely linguist

the proud will not remain in peace
get this out get this out of me