April 30, 2010

I admire his ugliness, rough ease,

ridges of broken teeth,

Tommy’s face is a road map of that place I

am always trying to be.

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April 29, 2010

And when he spoke,

(The rain hit the wings of the airplane like pebbles,

Canada waited under me, like a grey storm cloud on the horizon,

The wheels scraped and sparked against the runway when we landed,

And I felt half a world away.)

Every minute I was thinking about the stretch of sea,

already between us.

April 28, 2010

Afterwards, she would always shake her hair out,

wheat gold that fell in a line down her back, a curving waterfall.

One of his favorite things about her, down her back in waves

like white water.

He’d run a finger down her skin, tracing over every sunspot and scar.

Her body covered in a pattern of melanin spots like

stars in the Milky Way.

He doesn’t know,

it doesn’t matter where.

If they’re on a battlefield or

in the bedroom behind their closed doors.

April 27, 2010

In the rainy season, the shoes in the school line up in the hallway boxes. Socks get wet, these people constantly in transit, umbrellas in their right and proper place.

Everything seems so perfect here, rarely is there something out of place.

April 26, 2010

I break the news and her face breaks too,

like a million bits of glass in the sun

their reflections run rampant,

the same as raindrops, pearling to the sea.

Broken into dust, hot summer

reminding me of the

Texas windstorm, inside the hood of the old ford.

April 25, 2010

I dream about the women of your country, wrapped in gold silk.

Their faces round and dark, ripe olives growing smooth and flawless in the afternoon sun,

citrine eyes set deep in their sockets.

I dream about the snowdrifts under my metal wings and engines, cold and cruel,

a month of darkness and the smell of the dogs.

Red flags waving in the morning fog, little silkworms weaving their threads before they die.

April 24, 2010

His lips are burning holes in the air before him, steam hissing, evaporating. He could be ash, dark and scorched until he’s nothing but the blackened shell of a body in the slatted, pooling sun; eyes covered and his skull still cradled in the embrace of Jake’s hands.

Jake will be kneeling behind him on the white sheets, pristine against the Prussian blue sky, burgundy sun and the sparse apartment bedroom

It’s better than you could ever have imagined, Jake tells him.

His eyelashes, dark and thick and sharp, rise, and the sun’s glory, burning, for the first time.

April 23, 2010

In space, the cold, dry air,

And I watched the press of yours lips against the glass, hard and raw,

I felt the smooth swell and bend of the suit, ensnaring your body,

with the weight of my

blood and each beat through my veins.

The respirator buzzed, and only a glass shield,

held my thoughts from the world. While each

moment, I breathed in new air, to my lungs.

A prism of colors, black space, flickered and

passed before my eyes.

April 22, 2010

I search all over for you, look for you on the other side of the room in the dark, wondering, how many cigarettes you smoke and how you see the world.

That fresh breath of air comes sometimes, walking in the aftermath of winter, the thin fabric of shirt and the loose sway of my arms, skin exposed to the air. My heels connect to the ground, earth below cement, movement, and I can breathe.