#12 It's Not Right Yet

12 It’s Not Right Yet

I want to figure skate around your ring finger
I’ve been working on my double axel

I want to leave chunks of my voice in your car
I’ve been in re-writes about what I’ll say

I want to package my breath and deliver it to your eardrum
I’ve been looking for the right box

I don’t know how else to say it.
I can’t tell you any other way
I am fearful that you’ll forget me

I want to melt into your skin like a mini me tattoo
I’ve been stuck between black and white or color

I want to mold my mouth into a luminescent plaster with a ring for your keys
I’ve been indecisive on the right amount of pursing

I want to write you a poem that tells you I love you
I’ve been juggling words like a deranged circus performer

I am so scared you’ll forget me

#11 Step On a Crack

11. Step On A Crack


Step on a crack you’ll break your mothers back
What if you belly flop onto the sidewalk in an aerobatic drunken stooper?
What happens then?

All the child bearing women on my family tree have been back broken and heart broken
All of their children have accidentally, purposely, drunkenly, and casually stepped on cracks.

This will not happen to me.
Oh I will have children.
I’m just going to be prepared

Since yesterday morning I’ve began drinking pixie dust out of helium balloons while sitting backwards on the wings of condors so the force of the air may familiarize itself with my spine. I stopped only briefly to rest on satellites and inhale antigravity space matter.

I carried with me an eye dropper and a vile.
Drip by drip it will be filled with drops of everything I find.
Every sunrise I will rise from my bed and inject heavens weightless liquid gas into my womb

When the time is right
I will conceive
And he will be perfection
He will write and create and dream like no one ever has
He will change the world
He will float
I will stand up straight and prideful
I will beam with love and zeal
His feet will never graze the earth
he will never step on a crack
and he will never break my heart

#10. Vision

10 Vision

It happens every time I see you
My eyes water
My eyes water like sunscreen has just slid down my forehead and bleached into them and I decided to dive into the pool anyway
Like when I get into the pool my answer is to open them underwater and allow the chlorine to scrape my cornea with its grainy goodness
Like this pool is a torture cupcake and the icing is made of jellyfish that slap my pupils with their slimy tentacles and pull blood from my optic nerve that contains all of my secret visions
That blood that holds things only I’ve seen
Myself naked after a run
My mother crying because she isn’t perfect
My father failing
My brother breaking

I just thought you should know
It happens every time I see you

#9 Where You Sleep

9. Where You Sleep

Last night she fell asleep in the middle of the road.
She wasn’t driving.
Her bed was in the middle of the road.
She was too tired to move it.

She had invited him over but assumed he wouldn’t come
When he crawled into the sheets next to her, like the erotic fantasies crawl across her mind when she smells his skin, she has no use for oxygen.

He presses against her like the wind presses the palm trees as a hurricane is approaching.

He is love vaporized.
He is passion visualized
He is her pulse in high definition

His exhale leaves a puzzle on her neck
One piece at a time
And he always retreats before she can see the full picture

She woke up in the middle of the road to the sunrise kissing her back
But not him
Maybe tomorrow she’ll take back her bed