a warm place to self-destruct
somewhere
I
my body quakes underneath the warmth
of strangling exhaust fumes—
a chilled sense of spring
cracks from the ground merged
with cracks on my feet
creating a map of miles often traveled
they were placed in boxes
left alone in closets
i’ve never seen them—
the wrinkles from their pasty skin
how they smile at their home
II
someone just walked across my grave
i am no longer a collar-up switchblade
twisting with the ghosts of tattered angels
i think that maybe, if i pile enough dirt
i could find the world—
i just turn deaf
there are as many burning guitars
as there are burning doves
their vibrance rages against the bars of my rib cage
i lie on the ground
waiting for earth to welcome me back home
as the voices burst through
their words simmering
into summer back roads
of a small town
their gardens are never warm
enough
III
i knew mercy once
he was a stick of novacain
into a morphine-filled heart
lacking enough grace to smile
it was amazing those nights
he was happy to see me—
so i dropped wishes into wells
hoped for a miracle
but the manager said there were no refunds
i stick out my thumb
hitch-hike all across the world
for i have been living in the future for too long
the present has never seen my face
my shoes are stitched with songs
about somewhere i’ve never heard of
but i know i’ve been there before
if i can lift up my hand
i can gently touch its surface
someday bury me there
underneath its stale utopian waters
and when my heart returns
point it to
somewhere
a dog from hell
my father said he couldn’t touch a faggot—
that whenever he had to take their money
it felt like lice was crawling up his body
i prayed his words
would lay rocks in my stomach
each time a school boy crush
invaded my thoughts
i wanted to drown
every insect in my body
so i could remain a person
after dinner i would drip
a few drops of bleach on my tongue
thinking it could purify
the wrong blood inside me
we revolved around him
my father—the sun
and we were planets
he shed light on
when the alcohol ran dry
the brightest star is always the coldest
quaking with anger
sprinkling broken glass
and ripped drywall
he couldn’t touch us
yet we dream of the blood
oozing from debris
on burnished days
i found myself in the grass some mornings
dew setting in my clothes
i was becoming transparent
the evils of light
were forcing me to self-destruct
you have to love yourself in the darkness
when the sun calls you worthless
and when i finally came out
i wondered if he felt
the bugs waking
she hung half full above us
i remember fucking him
in the back of a taco cabana
at three in the morning
end of his shift
end of my meal
our eyes told us
all we needed to know
it’s funny how much our eyes
give ourselves away
tell the world we’re broken inside
when we want to keep straight-faced
and monotonous
because we can’t be broken in public
he wore cinnamon brown skin
tight around his bones
curly hair hidden with uniform baseball caps
because tacos require solidarity
from the employees
we didn’t know our names
we needed to be anonymous
this was not something we could hold on to
this was only carnal action
our bodies were exposed to the stars
but we didn’t care
after i pushed him
over the garbage can
my hand smoothed
his spine
he closed his eyes
as we connected
little trombone wailing
from his teeth
he was not quiet
but how quiet is the moon
when she hangs half full above us
promising that she’ll be full again
that it’s only one bad day
out of a month, out of a year
slowly dimming until nothing is left
there’s supposed to be balance in our rebirth
but we only get rickety footsteps—
stutters leaving our tongues
unable to communicate with other folks
that we’re sick
that we’re dying
we have forgotten each other
drifted with time
but some nights
i still smell grease
pulse
lighting a cig
i lean against a moss-covered brick wall
there’s a man across from me
hands outstretched
trembling for change
people slither past
ignore his problems
this man holds worn eyes in his skull
his hope for a meal dies off
my smoke drifts to clouds filled with water
they wait to give birth
the bus stalls at the stop
its engine squeals
people push themselves against the window
mouthing for help
their tears drip down the glass
emergency lights start flashing
drivers honk angrily
thunder rolls smoothly overhead
police and medics arrive
they surround the bus guns drawn
they enter swiftly
two young teens are escorted out
one hand cuffed
another bleeds on a stretcher
hunger
i see him digging through trash
while i gas my car
rose stems for fingers
searching for little crumbs we take for granted
his eyes are filled with a weariness
only the desperate would understand
hunger fueling his frenzy
in the frozen air
i’ve seen him before
every morning
under the freeway
sleeping through i-45 traffic and construction
workers ignore him
knowing there is no other place
he can call home
he digs through torn credit card receipts
and spoiled yoohoo cartons
only to find hunger deep
within the bottom of a bag
body quivering
he turns
wanders off
sleep should come to him soon
but what comfort is slumber
when winter attacks
i shake the final droplets of
fuel
grab my uneaten sandwich
nimble fingers snatch it away
saying nothing
we depart with minor comforts
the church of fast food
i’m at a taco bell
watching a guy suck out the insides
of a cardboard-filled burrito—
sour cream sticks to his lips
cheese drips to barely clean table tops
his hands wrap firmly around its shaft
as if it were the best
goddamn thing to touch his lips
his teeth gnaws processed tortillas
and squirts of beef and beans
like he was eating out god’s asshole
this was his hour of meditation
of enlightenment
finding prayer inside each viscous bite
while pictures of tacos hang in windows
they look nothing like what he’s molesting
but we’re told it’s good to eat anyway
this is how we kill ourselves
eating fake burritos
processed in some lab
to keep up us addicted
grease dripping down our throats
hardening in our hearts
slowing our bodies
until we stop breathing
the sleep that god dreams of on his smoke break
4am insomnia sits on my chest,
heart growing confined, i breathe
in my anxiety in hopes i can
keep the morning quiet
they call me sometimes,
i neglect to answer, they know
i am there, the collectors know
everything about me
i am their prey
i am their kill—
their large file they
can’t let go because
i have yet to be caught
but time grows short
for everyone
it’s troubling, keeping
a guitar inside your
chest aflame while dodging
shadows in the mail, though
i am not the only body
they are after
i am simply the first prayer
among the dissonance, the
first feeling of desperation
being killed by a morning
cigarette, yet self-medicating
is only a temporary fix
to keep the voices at bay
they’ll find me out there
gone mad, gone nameless
reaching for embers
when i was in 6th grade my ma took
me to church, prayed the childhood
outta me while the preacher told us
he catches letters from heaven
tellin’ him we’re all sinners, that
we’re all disappointing our father
he tells us that when jesus returns,
when the clouds are embers hovering
the blue, it’ll be beautiful; that
destruction is balance between rebirth
it scared me, made me hold
tight for my mother, but i was in 6th grade
and i wasn’t supposed to have a mother,
only an overseer
to make sure the man in me
don’t cry because men don’t cry
so i let her go, let her distance
herself while i became codependent
on caffeine and staying awake at night
i fell in love
one too many times
with the wrong kind of people
became addicted to warmth and dingy water
because i couldn’t be alone when the end hit,
just like the preacher said,
i couldn’t be alone when i finally gave out
but the names on my chest
are weeds, late night
fuck fests and jack daniels
from the bottle
my father never understood
what it was like to hold onto someone
i’m still unsure if i
but people are like heroin
too broke to be put together again
i still look for embers
when the sun sets,
still share beds with puzzles,
though i have yet to return
to the pews that crippled me
i’m growing whole
with someone who makes
all the ticks dissolve,
but my body quakes
when dreaming
of the voices
that have led me here
the taste of debris before the storm
my father and i drive
through waterfalls
tires skating across asphalt
while ditches turned into miniature lakes
the engine roars with hysteria
we slide past cars
and between lanes
he keeps his foot on the gas
to kill the silence between us
i watch his arms
hold earthquakes
against the wheel
not knowing the feeling of being sober
in my mind i race with words to say
but i cannot talk to him
he is awake
waiting to turn ground into rubble
there is a hell inside of him
i never wanted to cross
like the day he punched
holes in the bedroom walls
i never thought thunder
could be heard through sunshine
we remain distant
continuously pushing
farther out from the horizon
he is a darkness
i cannot touch
tires shriek
i leave the car
head to the school
head to freedom
fire
soak me in kerosene,
light me on fire
and watch me drown
before i burn
our bodies shake and squirm together
spasmodic flames growing violent
in our rhythm
we must have danced all night
hands touching, grabbing
caressing each other
but we never said a word
connections
we used to fuck
now you shoot orgasms
through dick pics
and sleazy texts
while i try to remember
the feel of warm flesh
this is our nightlife
carried in the palms
of our hands
when i smooth your pale frame
over the dank linen
i could feel your shadow losing breath
i could feel the beats stop beneath my chest
you only wanted the rush of a fantasy
you never wanted
to share the small death
waiting when we finish
our last breath
walking under navy skies
our hands brush through leaves
carrying our last breath
between our palms
to the river
you were tired of purgatory
said you needed to learn
the art of balance
before finding peace in me
but i am a seed
trapped in skin
drowning with an appetite
for your blessing
when my hand loses you
my mouth becomes a graveyard
burying words in steel caskets
when your figure
is no longer in sight
the caskets rust
the words decay
and i realize
we were only a dream
how the stars say fall
we are rose stems under the clouds
fragile to their weight
naked to their
touch
we are addicted to destruction
some selling hearts to hatred
while others become victims to lead
shooting through their voices
we are shells afraid of blood
pumping oceans of anger through our veins
breathing our own smoke
look at the moon
at how the curves smooth over us
how many souls have gone searching for her
how many names are carved on her surface
she is a reminder of our dead
a reminder that the best get lost in her craters
poetry ripped from their veins
graves growing dusty
they’ve become stars
pebbles not strong enough
to skip across
they whisper down from the skies
though we are not able to hear them
we’ve bottled up ourselves
so we cannot be influenced by the body bags
lingering in the air
we do not want to hear them speaking
what we all want
if you close your eyes
you can hear them
love me, love me, love me
our last days
where did your mind go before
you draped your flesh over smooth linen?
the vultures peer through frosted windows,
knowing you are empty; that they can vomit
up your bones after devouring what you have
left behind, they say they eat the eyes first to ensure
you don’t come back, knowing that there
are souls who make it to purgatory and fear
what they have become; ghosts are littered
around us. one wonders if they remember anything
we can all imagine why your breath lingers
on the indentions of the mattress, but we
already know, we are our own tragedies that
haven’t burst yet; little grenades tick tick
ticking beneath our hearts, waiting for it
to pile; for us to make our peace, but we
are human, we teach ourselves to
misunderstand, to confuse, to keep
the morning precious because we
cannot disturb ourselves
mother of all things, you lie there,
curves in place because you wanted
us to remember the grace you carried
with you always, we are to never forget
how simple you were, or how the refinement
of your character fell from your fingertips,
you were beauty, and we were the followers
who could only remember this,
never who you were; never your name
we’ll bury you tomorrow, you’ll grow
flowers after time passes
how light tastes without direction
i’m at the pawn shop. guitar and camera in hand. need fast cash for items i won’t remember next month, but pawning the camera hurts me. i wonder if i’ll feel better when it leaves my hands, sometimes you have to kill a part of yourself that likes to create in order to survive. you can’t always be a photographer and eat. you can’t always be a poet and keep your car in the garage.
but that’s life. let it go so you can live, so you can pay the fuckin’ bills and eat three meals a day. have some world class kids and be a growing member of your community.
the guy behind the counter is cute. light brown flesh, eyes filled with boredom and scenes of too many folks coming in with problems. he don’t fuck nobody with problems, but boy, everyone’s got them. you just don’t know it yet.
i am wishing i could smoke as he looks over the items. time ticking away as my eyes browse around a store filled with guns, gold and guitars. guns. gold. guitars.
he’s too used to this. too used to giving folks chump change to help them through their day because you can’t get real money for a gun, y’all. you’ll only get fucked for gold. guitars are not welcome in this country. we’re no musicians. we’re americans. fat and grease flowing through our veins, diabetes lingering in our bodies. we can’t fucking live much longer. but how can anyone fix this shit if we are not willing to wake the fuck up?
we just wish it away, but wishing is only false hope waiting to explode.
he gives me my money. i tell him he’s cute, for what it’s worth. we won’t ever see each other again.
the first breath you take after giving up
you were a body bag,
making coffee in the
kitchen, pale morning
eyes tripping over
flat surfaces
you had forgotten to
unzip yourself, to
let go of the hymnals
building up inside
your hands looked
as if you had lost
a fist fight with
fine china, blood
dancing over striped
tile, sometimes we
forget we’re all like
windows, easily broken
the first breath you take
after giving up is like
falling asleep while the
fires are still going
you never asked if the
flames would die, you
only mentioned how
beautiful they looked
when you closed your eyes
temptation
i met the guy on craigslist
3am internet browsing
and his advert said all the right words
it said he wanted someone to take control
he wanted some pushy asshole to submit to
something more than a quick fuck
so i hit him up
blasted him with emails
filled with electronic sperm
to preview a good time
some folks don’t understand
the desire to control
or the desire to submit
they only know of trending films
plastic handcuffs
and a flimsy dog collar
to make the bedroom interesting
i wanted control—
wanted him to wear my collar
because some demons just feel right
and he wanted to suck them all out of me
he was obedience
i led myself further into unknown temptation
making it to his door
knocking my way into the final line of the abyss
silence
i howl under the moon
as my footsteps slam
down cement steps
heroin
my therapist said
i should empty the bad dust
piling up in my skull
i tried to peel it back
in order to scoop the mess out
but jackals are too addicted
to their demons
so i light up in the parking lot
to cure the remains
i failed to take out
but self-medication
can’t erase your taste
from my past
purgatory
it’s not just a movie
or a passing fad
hovering in self-discussion
some desires are too addicting to let go
intertwining themselves
around your appetite
and allowing the best its freedom
we chat online
firing words of eagerness
of how willing you are to kneel
mute begging infests me
pumps fuel into the craving
i cannot let go
hotels are the world’s purgatory
sins left in their walls
washed away in the morning
and forgotten
such is our nature
but you are not the quick fling
you are obedience
the mother of happiness
serving your alpha
serving me
when i lock you into your collar
you will become owned
become fulfilled
and led further into temptation
when i bring you into my home
i leave you naked
exposed
for you are now the object
of which my desires will be acted upon
you yearn for them
for the anarchy
hiding in the abyss
we think we know what snow looks like when it falls
walking downhill
feet cling to slippery sidewalks
as snow falls
you huddle against me
while we try to keep balance
i want to ask you
if these skies have always carried
the grey of ourselves
but i stay silent
fearing your answer
my father always told me
not to trust anyone else
people are like weeds
you can rarely pull them out
once they’ve gotten in
so i learned not to talk with people
sewing my lips each year
to keep from being infected
we crawl downward
towards a coffee shop at the end of the hill
could you hear my heart stop
underneath the steel of my chest
could you feel the skips
each time your hand brushed my arm
i can’t peel it back for you
it’s tradition in the family
to lock the muscle into place
and save face when you want to open yourself up
we hang out in the drive-thru
no lobby to fight this cold
i think about how you would taste if i kissed you
drivers honk at us
because we are not cars
only bodies that mesh together
maybe they are bitter
seeing two men entangled
uncomfortable with the idea
that we may be lovers
but these drivers have everything
they got jobs
they got kids
and every other goddamn thing in this world
and they want us out their damn way
so they can get their booster shot
to get them through the day
and we have nothing
i wanted to fuck you here
in the drive-thru
anger still blasting at us
while i strip you down
to the pale white skin
what would these bastards think then
i am selfish
learning about desire
craving a taste
like every time i see a cigarette
lying on the ground
though you will never know this
you swallowed the balance in my steps
made my rebirth wobbly
we grab our oil
walk back up hill
bodies warming
the grey gets harsh in the clouds
as you slowly loosen yourself from me
our words never existed
lame is a blindfold keeping you
from seeing; a mask to shelter
you from being injured from
the rejection, only it never happened.
you disguised yourself, dorky
as you were, and i got lost
in the emptiness of your fear.
we were ninjas, swift
to catch the dust from our
dreams, ready to dissolve
into the darkness when they
failed to see any light.
our song had no words, we
were not ready for the
commitment of them; we
never were. we were only
prepared to stay hidden
and play the deaf musician
when we opened slivers of our flesh.
i regret you, yet i know you
will never leave. you were
a luxury i could never afford,
but it was beautiful when you
were able to see me.
if i weren’t so blind, maybe
i would have seen the art behind
your smile, but my eyes are
merely cotton balls, too soft
to see what beauty really is.
it was your imprint, it
told me you were alive,
of the fire brewing in
your chest, but the
smoke was too far in
the distance. my hands
could not reach you.
we are all time, hearts
pumping in the wind
waiting to feel what it
is to live.
you dissolved from me,
i lost my breath when
the sands fell through
my fingers. our dance
was not meant to start.
but I am still here, waiting
to feel your voice; waiting
for your whispers to linger.
i have out grown myself—
i’m afraid of the walls
i’ve broken as i wait.
the story of adam
when the rain
steals from us another song
we play along, we sing along
when the sky
wraps around us her skeleton bones
we sing along, we carry on
you stand there
at the edge of my doorstep but I’m not there
my body’s home my mind is gone
somewhere…