Tuesday, April 26, 2011


Even before you were able
To fully emerge
From your protective cocoon
Of baby fat
And pastel pink swaddling
There were grown men
Testing strength of all manner
Of tether and chain link
Compromising boundaries
Constructed to keep you out
Of harms way
More than an arm's length worth
Of laws were enacted
To protect your flesh 
From paws and fangs
But these men
Can't rest properly
Until they have 
Touched you innappropriately

They were choking themselves
On their collars
Jumping their fences, rabid
Once they picked up
Cotton candy scent of girl
Fluttering above the baseline
Of a tattle tale breeze
They couldn't stop the razors
In their mouths
From flashing
Couldn't extinguish
A growl sparking
In the back of their throats

Tragic endings in our
Ugliest folklore never 
Hinted at this manner of savage
Didn't paint images of the broken bodies
Young women will be trapped in
After they have been hunted
We were unaware that a child
Could elicit such a reaction
Never knew female 
Could cause
Such a frenzy
Just by being born

Little girls don't understand
Anything about "sexy"
A language
Foreign and unnecessary 
Stilt legs, uncoordinated 
8 pm bedtime sleepy eyes
And breath with
The stench of milk
Clinging to new teeth
Like a memory

Even before you were able
To fully emerge 
From your protective cocoon
Of baby fat 
And pastel pink swaddling
There were men imagining
All of your private parts
Laying awake, waiting for you
Enginering erections in your honor
When your mother hadn't even
Decided what she wanted to
Call you
Claiming you
Before you knew
Who you were
They have scheduled your abduction
Timed it according to
Your birthday
The pulse of their footsteps
The amount of times they knocked
Before the door swung open
How often they looked
In the neighbor's window
Before the urge grew too wild
To wrangle
A chapter and a verse
Some other arbitrary number
Anything to attribute meaning
Justify everything wrong
They will blame you
When really
It's what they wanted to do
Long before you 
Stopped believing in Santa Claus

There isn't a chord in a song
That flips the undisturbed switches
When played in reverse
There is no camera angle 
In a film scene that lights 
A psychological fuse
There is no magnet in the well
Of your belly
You are not a star
Collapsing into itself
You simply
Didn't know your period
From a comma
Confused it for a tadpole 
In Times New Roman type face
Wedged between words
To slow the pace 
Of a run on sentence
That you did not co-author
You cannot pump the breaks
When your feet won't 
Reach the petals
Your mother's womb
Was no green house
So, no wonder you never got 
A chance to bloom
Sunlight didn't get ahold of you
Before an uncle's hands did
We can't handle it
Adults expect you to know as much
As they do
When you are not yet ready 
For these lessons

On a standardized test
You were asked to
Classify the part of speech
Under which the word "preditor" falls
You had no answer
And we respond with 
More than an arm's length worth
Of laws, illequipped to catch you
Tight roping alone 
You navigate the long walk home, 
While vultures halo
Over your head
A slow moving mobile
Above the cradle of a middle school 
Playground and soccer field
It is 2 pm 
And you are not even 
Dead, yet

Monday, April 25, 2011


If you believe that
death is the worst possible 
fate, you're in trouble


When fucking no longer
Coincides with laundry day
And whether or not
I have shaved my legs  
Your palms, familiar
With my stubble
And all manner of unkempt 
It seems you have not paid attention
To much of my imperfect
Us, unclothed 
Limbs and torsos
Piled on top of
Sheets that we have tinted
Our particular shade of human
We sure do know how 
To un-make a bed
Those pillows never stood a chance
So smart,
The comforter threw itself 
On the floor
When it saw us
Stumbling in
Blinded by eachother
Connected at the lips
I wonder
Do your strings quiver
In a manner similar
To the shake of my thighs
When I am walking to
The bathroom naked?
Will the dimples in my hips
Become a lyric?
Have you uncovered a song
In the basement of my spine?
You know,
The spot touched by you
So often
The flesh has molded
To the curve of your fingers
My birthmarks
Indistinguishable from
Your handprints
I admit
I have found
Poems in your eyes
I keep myself busy 
Trying to  transcribe them 
Everyday, I am rebuilding myself
Into a home for you
A fresh coat of paint
And well kept
Somethin' pretty for you to
Look at
'Cause you deserve 
All manner of fancy
That I can afford
Every luxury that I 
Can offer
All the amazing
I can manufacture
All of the food 
That I can cook
Stay here
If you ignore the stubble
On my legs
We can wash the laundry
Sheets that we have tinted
Our particular shade of human
You've got a smile 
That I did not have to earn
We have heirloom hearts
That still kick
In the middle of 
All of this mess
You do not need permission
To love me thoroughly


What is the Return Policy
On Human Beings?

I met you on my
birthday. If you were my gift
I need that receipt


We walk into the place
Smelling like sex
Talking too loud
Looking like love
All kinds of colored
No one needs to hold hands
We talk with ours
No one knows their sun signs
We are stars
We, animals
Sequined eyes and feathers to match
A flock of angels
Out for the night
Too much living 
Collected under our nails
Got us restless
We have seen enough moons 
To tell you all about the waves
We make our own history
We ain't chasing shit
We just spin these webs and chill
Look pretty
And wait
For something to come along
Fat enough
To sink our teeth into

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


What I really want
to say is the thing I should
never write


He says it was 
The extra 10 pounds
Your smart mouth
The new way you decided 
To wear your hair
How you lopped it all off
Loc'd it all up
Took the weave out
With no care or concern
As to what his preference might be
The fact that you ain't keep 
A clean house
But your shit was always messy
And he knew that from jumpstreet
Clutter on the coffee table
Didn't keep him
From putting his feet up
On that bitch
So let's be more realistic about
What is and isn't his own
Personal problem, versus your 
Predisposition toward imperfection 
In all things
Ask him why he doesn't 
Address the actual issue
Why he will pick and choose 
Which of your traits are acceptable
And what he can't tollerate
A man with a God complex
Would rather create a mate
Than find one
Maybe you two
Should date other people
Since it is apparent
That you can't live up
To his standards
Either that 
Or lay down
So you can get 
On his level


I love my house
Most in the morning
Cold tiles
And a front door
Painted with sun
All of the plants
Finally dozing
Their quiet conversations
From the night before
Suspended in the air
Orbiting our heads
Collecting themselves 
At base boards
And behind bookshelfs
To be ignored
Or mistaken for dust
Scent of hair and skin
Snaking itself into
A labyrinth cave of lungs
Each eager mouth
A pore and crack
In floor and wall
The hulk of my sofa
An inanimate animal 
The heater's warmth
A second ceiling
The tick of 
An oscilating fan
Turning it's caged face
To see you waking
tripple blade whiring tongue
Translating the language of
Last night's open window
Left unattended
A report of the day's first
News story
In which a neighbor
Exits his own apartment
For work
Clock hands twist
A familiar routine
In well timed celebration
These extinguished porch lights
All watching eyes
Audience of sparrows
Cats with no homes
Gated dogs that bark
Because of nothing at all
And for every little thing
Chipped paint
Dust at a threshold
A vacant window sill
Wishing to be seen
Books that look at you,
Spiders we do not kill
Because they do the work
We refuse
I am thankful
For a much awaited morning
Exhaling all around us
For this magical box
I heartbeat inside of
And most of all
For the unruly horizon
Who stretches
Her naked body
Across a soft, bare 
Mattress of sky

Friday, April 8, 2011


Migrane, scratchy throat,
burning eyes; Why I can't fuck
with cigarette smoke.


How I Signed Your Copy Of My Book

Dearest Adam, I
am still waiting to be tucked
away in your beard


When I told him
That he was not the one
Our rambunctious brood of 
Hypothetical, yet to be 
Concieved babies
Gathered around a small 
Open window in the
cloud covered floor of heaven
And whimpered, looking down
At us breaking up
Realizing that they 
Would never 
Get to be born
Because they were never
Meant to be

Such poor babies
Pitiful little cherub faces
Banished to non-existence
For all eternity
What a shame
Little So-And-So 
And Whats-Her-Name
Never even had a chance
How a romance can
Stumble on a starlit rooftop
And fall to it's death
What a freak accident 
This incompatibility is
Unfortunate to meet eachother 
In costumes that most accurately
Portray our ugliest characteristics
It would be better to roam
The streets naked
Answer yes, always
Swim with the bossy current 
And never ripple waves
Not even to signal for help
Once my lungs get thirsty

I am a woman
Little time afforded to my species
For things like
What we really want
And what we plan to do
We choose early
Self development or
Child rearing
Or a home
With arms enough
To hold you in
The most basic
And very simple things
Every option, delicious 
But a decision
Like a promise
You can never go back on

There is a scroll 
Of childrens' names
Lodged in the back 
Of your throat
That may never 
be excavated while you 
Are still alive
Thousands of years
After you have died
Archaologists will unearth it
And the scroll's subjects
Will whimper
As they watch

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


He is a man
Too big for my bed
I haven't had to share
My space in so long 
I forgot what loving 
Felt like
Flinch at hands
That caress
Without warning
A kiss on my neck
I did not calculate
A pull at my hips
Without permission
I traced my signature
On his back
So that he
Never again has to ask

I can claim him
A man
I might cut a bitch for
But won't have to
'Cause he ain't
Messy like that
I like that 
I feel safe
For the first time
My memory will
Admit to
Stubborn elephant
Giant enough 
To protect me on my own
I'm not one of those
Needy women, you know
I can carry things
Move furniture
Ride the train at night
I live in a house
Constantly creaking 
And settling
Like my own bones do

Sometime I don't know 
How to sit down
Allow a man
To work at this
Allow a man
To reflex
To hold
His hands, big enough
His ripened heart
All ready for the bulk
Of me, unabridged 


Always writing
Frictions these fingers
To a forest of bone
Grey matter gone numb
I be thinkin' too much
No ideas left
Right mind, non-directional
My art
Selects sides
Each night I blueprint
A map of my imagination
Silhouette shaped like pangea
Ripped the top from Pandora's box
To discover where the wild things are
Created a character play list
To listen to
My favorite sterotypes reenacted
Heart and head
In constant conflict
Gaza Strip esophogus 
I cannot hieroglyph a language
To prevent a dumbing down
Pig Latin is no option
I got a warrant
And I like my freedom
Gonna post a help wanted sign
In sills of my eyes
And sleep walk into the night
Looking for a runaway poem
A lost love 
Easier to recover
Sock vanished in dryer
Glitch in the Matrix
I have seen it
I have unplugged my tv
And transformed into
A well read woman
How can I anchor 
My ideas to Earth
Once I've inhaled these fine lines?
Higher than a bird
Black as a raven 
And a skilled hunter am I
So hungry 
I have broken a book's spine before
And I swear to God
I will do it again 

Monday, April 4, 2011


The places where you
Hurt yourself before
Remember themselves
On these nights
When your phone
Does not move
And your hands
have been holding
Only each other
All you own is air
And the dull
Ache of teeth
Clenched too long
Your body knows itself
No one else
This is happening
A warning you tried
To wish away
A sturdy boomerang
Days that unfold themselves
At your feet like a cadaver unraveling
This is the life that belongs to you
The life you fucked and tried
To get rid of
The life that wants your love
And won't take "no"
For an answer
It stalks
Hides in the dark
Waits for you
Knife wielding
Homicidal on good days
Your wounds smile
Your reflection on the blade
A deconstructed face
Eyes you cannot decode
Your body
Swaddled tight
In a cocoon of scaffolds


When God invented sound
We are what he intended
Us with our percussion footsteps
With our gleaming trumpets
With these lungs
With these mouths
My body, a clef
His nautilus ears
A many chambered masterpiece
And all the World
Altered, added, suspended

We were born knowing how
To prism these chords
Marry triad to rustling wind  
Weave  between these trees, standing
Tambourine the leaves, changing
To know the difference
To modify the time
To open the corridors
Of our throats
Forever and ever
And never have to sleep
Or wonder

We are unrelenting
8 count enough to fill a glass
Thunder enough to break it's back
Hands enough to carry it
Destroy again

We, symphony of hearts
Bleed riffs
Like the ancients
And our mothers' mothers
Their eyes, notation
Captured in our collective memory
Like rainwater
Like morning 
Like the tingle of sunlight
Coloring us green
Growing us big
Tuning our guitar string veins
Vibrating our bones
Puzzling us into gifts shaped like children 

Saturday, April 2, 2011


I could write about
his eyes. But everything
is not a poem

Friday, April 1, 2011

National Poetry Month 2011

Today marks the beginning of National Poetry Month. You may or may not be aware that I (and literally a gang of other poets all over the planet) participate every year by writing 30 poems in 30 days. That's a poem a day, kids. It's scary as shit. I'm going to try to make it through this year, though, and you should join me. Starting tomorrow (when I will post the poem I wrote today), check back here everyday for a poem that will be in the mediocre to amazingly fantastic orgasmic quality range. I also encourage you to participate by attempting a poem a day. If you want, you can even post yours in my comment section so I can see it! That way, this whole situation won't be like literary masturbation and can turn into something mutually enjoyable. If more than one person a day posts here, it'll be like group sex. Sounds like fun, right?

Anyway, to tide you over until tomorrow, here's a poem I wrote during one of these here "poem a day exercises". It'll serve as proof that all hurriedly written poems don't have to suck too bad.