sandra

her mouth was enigmatic
and unmoving
her lips would part only to take in air
or to clench her pencil between her teeth

pale skin, sandra
low torso, sandra
black shoulder-length hair, sandra

we were aware of each other

she believed the female body
was much like the ocean
with curious things in curious places
secrets under the sand or in the kelp or in the tide pools
waiting to be uncovered

low torso, sandra

we began writing each other
after school let out for the summer
sending letters through the post
she even sent a picture
a black & white photo
a close up
her head adjusted slightly to the right
gazing at something outside of her 6X4 world

black shoulder-length hair, sandra

she would write about
how she wanted to study celtic mythology
on some study abroad program
how her room was always a mess

i remember how she lost interest in me
repeating past conversations
responding out of courtesy
the letters stopped shortly after

pale skin, sandra

i remember mailing her a cryptogram i had made
with my feelings for her encrypted within

and it felt so wrong

black & white photograph, sandra
pushes the hair past her ear, sandra
shoe box full of daydreams, sandra

the thereafter realized lesbian,

sandra

Esperanza

caesalpinia pulcherrima
feels the wilt that occurs
is the welt that procures
cambric to divinity

unfinished one

stark blue lips
feathers thinning
eyes yellow like phlegm
drifting into eradication


that was me


my pretty poinciana in chino hills
begging to be seen
wanting to be shared

i had thoughts of esperanza there
for her red vest
form fitting and taut
over a white dress shirt
and our last minute glances forever

over my left shoulder

Messiah

handel

and enough winding ribbon to kill a twelve pack

it's the back road
up on the ridge lines
going in and out of the clouds

the rain pattering on my rooftop

no one around for miles

i'll blur the scenery
into streaks along the windows

speeding

drunk

handel singing of god
at forty five hundred feet

and i'm swerving in and out of the world

closer to god
than i'll ever be

Burroughs

your spirit
blackens everything at your fingers

and i am bones of the sun

and you can see how people
shake with electricity

shake with the right hand
shake like leaves

and of the tongue
something old under your breath
something dead
something on the brink of words

i can feel tension, blame,
a need to control... everything

i can feel tension
even in the walls

flowers can only wilt
flies can only lay eggs

complexions can only go pale


we cannot burn a bridge
that was never built


a lynx on baldy
and i am not your son

week-old snow in texas
and i am not your son

year zero
and i am not your son

lights in the sky
and i am not your son


"smash the control images
smash the control machine"

Polar

shivering a little, she asked if i was alright

and we are prison card games
forest fires 85% contained

but her constellation smile
orions belt
polaris so labia-esque
neptune floating in tar
revealed

i can feel
the ocean air piercing my back side
but there is warmth enough
right in front of me

right in front of me

Gem

it's something spontaneous
the cure-all
necessary bone revelation
of nicotine stained wallpaper
sweat stained bed sheets
a monochromatic mundane
a bed of ivy when you squint your eyes
patterns in the stucco ceiling

it's pouring gasoline
on the living room carpet
with your family bound by nylon rope
giving muffled screams and pleas
from the master bedroom down the hall

the luminescent moon
makes a ruby of a townhome

in a bed of sapphire

Jail

waiting for my name to be called

a thousand displaced stars descending
sparks of a cutting torch
breaching the bowels of heaven

and i'm waiting for my name to be called

where your singing voice
is only disease and filth
lined with the resin of crematoriums

and i'm waiting for my name to be called

floating prayers to the moon
to catch that current in the sky
1 1/2 months away

waiting for my name to be called