the gift of humanity
is the claim by the self
and our lives
become poems we were born to tell

we shed time the way your body sheds weight
of days behind our now
but can you grasp it?
now, i mean
before then and soon all become
muddled into systems of feelings drawn out
by the same creature
who trained whistles and rails on time.

until then, or now at least
we’ll be wrapped in sun kissed skins
and i’ll give you mine
just in case.


your words are poison
there are things in these gardens that can kill you
sun rays are invisible
but tell me you don’t see green withering
dirt cracking
under your stare
don’t look at me that way

their is instinct amongst ourselves
to not be eating
not be preyed upon
by our own kind
but this is corporate – be or be eaten
and i will not be subservient to your hunger
when your belly’s full and my person
i’m sorry
but im not.

there was a glimpse of poetry
you have not tasted before
lovers calling your mouth
flicking them off with your teeth


this has nothing to do with the threat of strangers in the forest
i’m making sure you understand the moral of the story

forgive my salt
but i will skin hides
and dig my way out with my teeth
if i must.

i keep getting the numbers wrong
five steps in
ten steps back
is cracking at the weight of expectations
maybe i should let this run its course
ten times
deeper than dolphin water
i am breaking an entering
shielded gray and you don’t have the please of perhaps.

do you know what i’ve sacrificed to be here?
but maybe it’s nothing
maybe you’re history in the making
and i should let you
write yourself out
while i write myself in
defeated and weary
love means nothing but now after all.

i feel you
like tiny backpacks
flowers once hit in the suicide lane
maybe we’re passers by
watching them work around us
purposeful with dissatisfaction
unable to wish it any better
but doing it anyways.
if you think you knew me before
you should see me now
all upper crust
like flowers on any apron
reminding anthologies the grass is greener somewhere
i feel your absence like picks on my feet
moons half beet but still trying
hoping for the next time they can be full.

how are the trees there?
is the oxygen
a better breath?
or are you drowning
heavy in the foliage.

there be fire alarms blazing
flies and fumes drowning the young
you’re useless
asleep in the willows
dreaming with sirens
they scream at the youth
to wake up
get up
over you’re
a friendly inhibition of memory
something that may not be so cruel, so crass
but twice is enough
to shake any cow from it’s leather.
we’re hoping for branches
aching for mistakes
sweating liquor and snoring inebriation
i sleep with monsters.

sweet things aren’t just sweet things
another one is, yes, one more
little morning affections keep me
awake at night
and my legs hurt
someone, after this much walking
will want to whisper something sweet too.