298

generic beating heart
i have swallowed so many suns for you
to ashes, my flesh,
between my ribs and between my thighs

i am there in this dream tonight
you don't see me yet, but i show up uninvited

and like usual, i ravage through
i am not a nightmare, i kill nightmares
a strip of clean in your eyes
so you can see me better
dressed, physical, better

a generic beating heart
i broke down the enemy
tell me how, my comrade, how can you not skim through the past and remember me?

297

eyes closed running in circles on the grass in the field.
i see you there staring into the earth, trees and grass and all,
dirt waiting to get into your fingernails and all.

trip over your legs, fall on to your back, i scream and tell you i'm sorry and rub my hurt.
you flip over and give me tickles between kisses. i cry and i say i’m stupid but you say no.

296

when you ask me why i like you, all i can ever think of is "because you are lovely".
i do not know enough words
to describe
why
i am so fond of you, except for that and those.
there are maybe a thousand ways,
a thousand tiny little things you do
that catch my eye.
we're watching tv,
we're walking down the street,
we are asleep.
your skin, your flesh, your bones. and don't forget your breath on my cheek.

295: a list

summer at the cottage.
occasional breeze.
sun is always either rising or setting.
we have no inbetweens and no highlowtemperatures.
water footprints down the road.
sky too blue to be true.

294

you are sweet and i love you even though i am sad,
and i tell it to you secretly in your mouth and skin even though i don't say it through words.

i say it through my own skin and fingers and eyes: i hope you knew or even noticed once or twice.
i don't want to say it out loud,
because the sound of my voice ruins everything, it seems,
because when i whisper in your sleep it sounds so cliche
and i don't want that,
i don't want any of that,
i want only you.

293: a list

you on the roof.
autumn parade.
empty glass of iced coffee.
hoody we stole from the thrift store.

292

i never told you about this:
when we finally packed everything and moved it outside, the house sat so steadily.
for the first time it seemed, the floor stopped crying so loud
and the ceilings grew higher than before.
you were waiting in the car, honking impatiently,
broken radio signal but you listened anyway.
i took what energy was left in my fists and used them to break the windows and kick my feet at the dirty bricks of our fireplace
and smear my bloody palms all over our white walls and when you have honked more than fifty times i decided that it was time to leave
and never
come
back
again.

291

waves crashing
like broken daughters in a fight.
leave them all behind, barbarella, twisterlla, tinkerbell mouth mouse trap left in the doorway
don't step on it
it might grab you and throw you into the sea,
waves crashing,
like broken daughters in a fight.
leave us all behind, tiny little ants among buildings tall as grass,
giant footsteps,
remember the joy of sleeping.

i just miss you i guess.

290

i wake you in the night to tell you i can't stop thinking about you,
and you think it's a dream still, or it's not morning, or something something.
bags under your eyes full of groceries,
speaking of which - we need to get some tomorrow.

but i wake you up in the middle of the night to tell you that i already knew
from the first time i saw you that we can't be friends
i can't speak to you
i can't touch you
without electrocuting myself closer to death,
(you blink)
but i have done so and i did and i did,
(you blink)
i only feel elevated,
i don't even care if i die.
(you blink and kiss and close your eyes back to your awaiting slumber)

289

home in the rainy city,
a tree that never gets watered still blooms with no sunny help.
colonial education, hungry fingers
reaching for cookies
and tea.

there are three porcelain jars full of those up on top shelf.

time passes slowly here but it's december so quick so soon.
yesterday i laughed and thought about rolling down that hill in july.
time passes slowly here but it's december so soon.
that only means i'll be home a few days closer.

288

i was told once if i left you to die you would crawl back to me on dirty knees and a broken head,
but it's hanging now and it hasn't rained for weeks, you know, and i see no mud in the distance.
and i try to change the scenery by shutting out the greenery but when i close my eyes i wake up, almost too suddenly
and a jerk in my spine
and flicker of light, too bright.

i am sorry.

287: hazel

your eyes are deep and clear like planets
with forests and deserts no one dared to touch
and i want to explore them, leave my heavy footprints in the sand and dunes of the widest beaches
and break those mall twigs that get in my way, my pitiful path in the green towards that field i know of.

i know if because when i climbed the mountain side i looked back,
laughing,
and saw that peaceful grass smile back at me,
calling my name in its gentle whispers like a song (one that i still remember).

it is there i built my house from trees i cut, and mud that i stole from the roots of that shine.
it is in this house that i will wake every day to your smiling lips and crisp eyes,
i am certain of it.
and it is on this hard bed of rocks i will look into them,
recite this quiet poem, while i watch myself destroy
through your glass planet eyes.

286: for a friend

i don't think i could ever live again.
i've swallowed this and regurgitated and forced myself to swallow it again.
your words choke me at the base of my throat,
i just want to let it go, take a deep breath and release it into my fleshy lungs,
i've grown tired of the feeling of collapsing organs.

but you won't let me,
and i know i won't let myself, not that easily, to feel the regrowth of my ribs,
arms twisted around, fingers crawling up my spine, fixing each and every crack.

no, i can't, i don't know how,
i was never taught how to fight. i want to try it for myself,
taste the first bursting cell, first black blood (although i already know perfectly what it would be like).

so no, my friend, i will not pull myself up with the help of your body this time,
i haven't yet figured out how. i can feel that breeze, and to be honest,
i don't think i could ever live again.

285.

soft sunlight is my favourite.
i want to see it on your skin
when you are napping and
i am reading a magazine.

an article on a new type of sea fish they found in the atlantic ocean
last saturday. i want to feel the sun on my feet too,
between my toes, up to my palms, right next to you.
and i want to watch the dust float around and your eyes,
they move behind your eyelids
from a dream.

284

little stings on my lips,
ghost tracks on a sunny afternoon in a silent house with dust,
and then dusk,
and the reception gets weaker as i descend into a curve down beneath the sea.
i've been here, everything else is the same,
those smudgy footprints along the hardwood,
but it's definitely been a while.

this is how i can tell:
i have not stalked the land for countless days.

this time, like my every visit, is different.
i know, because when i open my mouth there is no more hunger.
when i open my mouth all that comes out is song.

283

there was music this time, wasn't there?
turn it up,
i want to hear your hands louder than this noise i've been hearing all summer long.