The Long Road

I want to say that everything is easy.
There is hurt here, so much has been broken. There were so many gates left open too long, too much rust; you would get it if you were the kind of person who ‘gets’ things like this.

Instead, let me tell you what it feels like to grow.
There are no claw marks in my suffering, I have no desire to wrap my hands around my anger, I left it by the door, by the fork in the road; even indecision is a choice.
Even disappearing is a choice.

The car below my balcony stalls.
Someone, somewhere is having worse luck than I am.


Feel good hymn

Come on, just this once;
Put the hammer down,
Let everything be sugar unwinding in the hot sun
No one’s got time anymore so stop nailing your heart
to that oak tree
Here is a thumbtack,
This is a dedication on the radio at four am,
Here is a bottle of scotch but only three ice cubes
I’ll draw a treasure map, I’ll leave the porch light on
I’ll dance one more time with my head on your shoulder,
one more time with my palms on either side of your head
Here is a bandaid
Here is the lullaby from the night you fell asleep sighing;
Forget that ruined evening
Every missed step lands on an earth already waltzing for us
In perfect time
Tell me again how we’re made of iron and lead
Tell me again how there’s no curing this
just whiskey kisses and the lump of your pulse on your throat
Here’s the facts kid; that ache might be here to stay
But let’s press ourselves together like flowers
No more wilting, and look we’ll even cheat death
Here is the open wound you’ve convinced yourself you are
Maybe that scotch could do you some good after all
Baby, put the knife down,
Give me a better forever than our names slashed together
Anything better than a big heart, rough-cut and leaking
Baby, come inside;
the radio’s on
It sounds like the pieces all put back together,
they’re playing our song

Bunny Hill

I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be lost in a quiet this decadent.  Remind me how the world stops spinning. I can tell I speak slower these days. The way my spine pulls me back towards the mattress. Hey friends-who-are-now-strangers, and the woodwork and where have you been? And where are you going? Just maybe not today. Tomorrow, definitely.
Didn’t I tell you? I’m sleeping again.
I know what this means, you know what this means.
And no, I’m not saying it has to always be that way; sunlight and sweat and sighing while you roll your eyes.
I can feel my pulse slowing in my veins
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
The way you tell me about your father and I imagine that truck, and the tens of thousands of pounds of force and curbsides.
How come the summer always holds me down this way? The winter isn’t supposed to wire anyone to stay up all night .
Everything always melts and it leaves me sprawled out on the sidewalk listening to Piebald watching the vultures circle overhead.
So I’m trying to watch the sun rise, and trying to drag my hands across keys and leave well enough alone.
I’m trying.
The sting of your palm, and gin against my tongue, and too much coffee too early and too late.
Ladies and gentlemen if you look to your left you’ll see we’re currently grasping at straws.
I am losing momentum.
Where did I go?

once bitten,. twice shy

They never write it down, do they?
what the world sounds before it comes falling down.
its the quiet; that sleepy silence and soft breath on your neck
sunlight through windows the way summer settles in on you
all of it so familiar
if people can be seatbelts, some of us are crash test dummies
We are all things, always
hitting the windshield
nerves, and glass
all flying through chaos hoping the wall doesn’t hurt so much
when we collide
this time

On Sundays I have to lie very still for a while
or else the space between my ears feels like its on fire
Here I am,
popping the clutch again
Here I am,
awake at four am again
the earth spins on an axis, nothing ever loses momentum
the noise and the mess, this
is an orchestra
we are all making our mothers’ mistakes
all left standing
bandages and apologies

the first sadness


let you kiss everything that has died here

you ask me,

about cigarettes

and you worry about me leaving


put them out quickly

already smoked myself down to the filter

such a funny story

those summers and

how the sunlight puts me to sleep for so long


cry when it gets warmer

laid in bed all day

my whole world is falling, i told you


crying into your bed, the smell of aftershave

too much dog hair keeping me calm

I told myself I stopped using myself as an ashtray


wanted to tell you

about how my skin itched to feel

more than bruises

or your hands

the end of my cigarette

I’m scared of what will happen 

you want so badly to make me happy




I wanted to ask you what you were so scared of.
I wanted to tell you that yes, its okay to hold my hand.
I wanted to apologize for the lovers that came before me.
And for how they treated you.
I wanted to thank you for your nervous rambling.
For keeping your eyes open so late into the night.
Dear twenty hours.
I’m leaving the door unlocked.
I’m sorry I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
You are everything I’m not asking for.

How are you so good at quieting these bones?