devilish food

the second hour of not getting up is the hardest.
neck pain from dehydration and
life pain from separation feel the same way;
sleepy, sleep, i want to disappear again
into the days of no fear
(none spoken)
no complications
(nothing broken)
no late night desolation, but of course
something snapped at twenty one
and i've got a switch that flips
every night
and you've got a future
that i once helped you put on hold
waiting for you just off the J train.

one day you'll roll on back
and i will lay covered in gauze
and you will see that i have made this bed a cocoon
and i will, finally, drink some water and breathe
beautiful as all get-out
and i will fly away from here
and you will watch and wave.

title wave

this is the way the world bends
into five colors, converges down
to a point on a pedestal: i
my brain and body
my bitten nails and the hair just above my elbows
dolefully and sometimes desperately
love you. not in a nasty, sobbing at work
kind of way (i sob at work for entirely
other reasons (but that's not the point) like
world hunger (but mostly my own hunger)
or
having forgotten to take my meds)
but in a silly, chest cavity collapses kind of way;
"you take my breath away" is a song about somebody
being suffocated by their lover
and loving it
while "take my breath away" is a song about asking for that kind of love
in return.
five different colors, all white, all roads
lead to you-know-where
scarily strolling along
walking on broken grass
hollow, hollow, hollow
we'll never love truly
till the point is off the plinth

just me

when was the moment you realized
that i was just a boy
no more or less than a summer night in normandy
another stargazer, somebody probably looking at you
the way you looked at me
when you decided to venture out of the jungle
and into my trees
not that i'm complaining, you were always a queen
that watery, toned, taught and teetering woman
who made me feel cool by thinking i was--
well, who knows? three years and maybe two hours
i gave you a school, a best friend, i'd like to think, at least
i like to think that i am the nexus
the beginning of all things
so that when i have faith in you
i also have faith in me.

seeping in

i tell myself i am beautiful
and i see it. and you see it.
our lips, silent and strong
hold such power (venom)
much love (a kiss)
a touch of fear (words, words, words)

i want you to kiss those words, words, words
away.
all of the venom i purport to hold
is wrapped up in your kiss, transferred
sucked dry.

i tell myself i am beautiful
and i see it. and you want me to say it
no matter whether you see it or not.
it is one forty-four and i have not done
written my paper.
i am swimming in
words
words
words.

ineluctable truths

that last one was about
death.

all of this security

so i can tell people about my body
even the bad parts
like the time i had a prostate infection, and
my friend and i made our favorite joke
or the hours and hours of nakedness
being drawn, aching, putting myself to sleep
waking up to a thousand shitty portraits
and knowing how to see myself in every one

so i tell people about your body
because it is not private
you use it every day
and i touch it every day
and at this point, we
are as much about our bodies as we are
about our brains.
if i were to stop talking about your body
(all of it)
i would have to stop talking about you.

is this us? when was the last time i looked deep enough
into your eyes to see myself?

but these are fleeting thoughts, and you will come upstairs
and we will touch
my body held against yours
yours against mine
in front of an open window.

shudder

i wanted warmth
you wanted warmth
binders full of warmth
a portfolio made of warmth
dizzy and tense, me, in search of
all of that warmth that you are so proud
of having drawn out of so many strangers,
but me? the sputtering, childish thing that you
tease and laugh at and run around with like a dog
or a toddler, how am i supposed to be confident when
asked to look confident? i thought i already looked confident;
i thought my willingness (desire) to put my self before your lens
bespoke the confidence i had in our collective, ecstatic, generous warmth--
but you wanted another kind of warmth, and i faltered. with the setting sun, i grew
cold.