if only's are all i have

i hate you
i hate you more than i hate anyone
more than hitler or mussolini
more than eating whole apples
or singing in public
or girls prettier or girls skinner than me
or the boys who date those girls.
being around you feels like i'm lost on a subway all the time,
like i can't translate the map, even though
i've been reading it all my life. it's like i skipped my prozac dosage
like i'm in a white straight jacket
but worse, because
the memory of how wonderful it all was nags me
like a woodpecker on the mind
and i can't help but think
if we could only stay like that
if we could only last
if it only worked like in dreams.

fuck linear equations

the l i n e is a devious motherfucker
really it's a sick son-of-a-bitch
proclaiming eternity and execution like a young romeo
when there are some things you just can't know
and some even if you know you shouldn't promise.
they caution "always account for variable change"
nevertheless
rebellion sneaks in through windows wide a quarter-inch
guessing the 4 character password on the garage keypad
desperate to believe that life is as straight as a line.
but i'm of the kind who appreciates honesty, no matter how brutal-
deviation is our single constant
in this planar world.

the zoo-keeper's rules

what i know is the inside of an incubator
a vast white limbo of
the overachiever's science project.

the poke and the prod and incessant
wide eyes jabs like arrows
in wounded flesh
at every yawning second

and the
zoo-keeper's paranoia
that any moment i will release beyond the metal
not trusting return-

above all, the eyes are my wrecking ball.

lion roar
unheard and unheeded
because it was not solicited to roar;
roar for the crowds
roar for the villans
don't roar for zoo-keeper;

those are not the rules.

le fou

there was that time
you made me watch pierrot le fou
even though reading a movie requires excessive energy
but great love always murders its victims
and that was the first time i realized you were mad.
then you dived into the lake
to salvage soggy remnants of a letter
because they are not black on white,
but momentous fragments of a memory.
white clouds with faint whispers of their last form.
and your crazy bursts a flame, beautiful,
sets fire to the rows of wooden houses down the block
burns teacups in oven fires,
maybe i am too close
or- am i close enough

jasmine

light years between us now
your uncertainty decapitates me.

i hope you still buy produce from the market across the street
and eat them cross-legged on the carpet.

don't tell me you've done the bohemian thing
and rationalized religion and God
upon returning home from months abroad,
the discrepancies of faith
air-ridden.


i'm only writing this
because the girl from eons ago
was divine by nature.

Monday to Sunday, on a Carousel

Thursday.

Parrallel streets,

I walk the pavement like a plank.

drowning in the part of me I haven't yet met.



Sunday.

Boxes, boxes hang,

silhouettes in empty spaces. We are two planets. Collide.



Monday.

Your scent infused on my pillow, my tee shirts, your jeans snug my bottom like a hand.



Wednesday.

Threads unwind, I will carry you with me
forever until Thursday.

for the boy with the inflated ego

bobby pin juts out
and your bubble is burst

you were never quite so chilled
as when the fortune cookie divulged,
your life is empty
your heart is bare
and I have no more to give.