I dream of every trip
I thought about but never took.
All the jagged cores of Earth
I could have roamed, like a corkscrew,
the bottles of wine I could’ve
sipped in the arms of a stranger.
all the moments I could’ve escaped,
the sphere of mourning a lost love
and saw our connection of flesh
the way it was:
a cockeyed and hopeful
melding of greed and alcohol.
A poem a day
For the times you’re away
From what could be
spills into the empty marketplace
of my useless poems.
i am dizzy with the illusion of love,
its whispers of fear,
my heart shudders to recognize,
it remains scattered, yet coalesces
like a hive mind, within the DNA
of a billionaire’s multitude:
where i’m unchartable and rigidly anonymous.
And it’s not a pleasant thing to read
But what else can I be
Than someone fighting
To keep the lights on
In the image of who
I’d like me to be
My bagel is charred,
A baby is weeping,
That big Gordian knot of us:
Unraveled by cityscape
is love in the 21st century:
we paint each other’s hearts with snap chats and tease with read receipts
speaking in the currency of ego–
how do I think of you and pretend I’m not?
heart blurred. shoes worn.
I am hanging over the edge of the world, breathing rice paddies and fields of garlic.
the wind tumbles through my pages and I find the ocean in the eyes of an fisherman.
he is smooth as a river rock;
I lie naked within his heart.
we share cigarettes until the plastic burns away.
until our skin peels and lands upon our feet.