cleveland49

moments in the fog before i'm torn from a memory i love before the person i loved is torn from me disintegrated into water particles that i cannot grasp in my hands disintegrated into not real not there torn into reality, burning in the lows of my stomach i remember you i remember how you told me stories some nights are harder than others the feelings of a time slide in like fog perching on my skin

i had a thousand lives; they were all before i met you. now i have one. i have done bad things i have good hands

the birches arabesque bent in the golden hour graze their fingers through my hair i still feel it i'm still here whisper something down to me

you missed the last part, the most important part. & halfway across this country, my mother dips her toes into the atlantic and fish swim. across the ocean you wake up in london and in paris & planes fly and i lie on the roof planes fly over me and no, they aren't shooting stars and no, i don't want them to be darling i love them as what they are. you missed the most important part where you said this white light was like a beacon in the middle of those twisting grey streets, and how when you got back, you hoped i would be somewhere at least. i just want to hear your voice. you missed the part where i said i'd be s

Here we are, a year later, right? free, right? you ask tiger, tiger will you ever let me go? and i say no. no. the way your heart was slamming into my ear last night was enough to make the elephants shake and stumble to their knees. enough to make the lions sigh and lower their heads. and all the while, all the while, the beaches stayed empty.

it's not a joke; outside it's still and it's angry and baby why don't you want me?

mom used collect sea glass along the shorline. blues were the rarest. but now she stands in the kitchen, and she kneads the bread dough over and over until her hands are chaffed and red. and i tell her, "mom, we have a bread machine." i know she hears me but she does not answer. mom doesn't laugh much anymore. her and dad do not kiss. she just stands washing dishes while watching the rain, and i know she is thinking of cherry blossom trees in a city that is now filled with olympians. these days when i come home she is sitting at the kitchen table sewing stuffed animals into shape. i don't know why she keeps making them. we have frogs and

there was a snow-thickened path running through a section of a large forest. the path followed alongside a river. a particular part of the forest was filled with pine trees. their branches were weighed down by snow, and frozen water droplets hung from the individual needles. the river could not be seen. in one tree, there hung an iron birdcage, the small door swung open. inside the birdcage was a birdy. all of space here was filled with twittering and chirping. snow was falling slowly in plump flakes. the birdy missed summer, and the smell of gasoline and fresh cut grass. it would not leave the cage.

but wait, wait! the stars are leaking! intentions have turned into tidal waves no is, no and, no are. no drowning, no thrashing weightlessly, just you, and just me, just lying in a slice of sun coming through the window, just us watching the crows fly home from the dump. and you are thinking of days spent beside the pool house, and i am thinking of mom and how she liked to make things out of clay. i'm thinking i want to live in the desert one day and you, you are tinkering with unseen things while i feel a pain in my chest.

I used to be better and now I can't sleep in this bed but, or, When I wake up I can't get out of it. You are the bird that will not eat from my hand, Just the empty echo a seashell makes when it has been abandoned. I looked at the pine needles and water droplets Had frozen at their tips, Oh honey this country is unforgiving, And as I shuddered in the snow So were you. Goodnight, goodnight; Go and mourn the loss of our naivety, Prettier words could be spoken But you would not listen. It's too cold out there, isn't it. IknowIknow that is not the point, Except I mean it. You could not be more callous in your lines of caring