brokengod--veins

& ran out of memories. you know that way i would forget all the bills and loans and rent and utilities and water and air and and    and i cost something. i cost a fucking fortune and i am defined by how much i pay and refuse to pay. my bones, my lungs, my body, fingers are nothing but insurance lists and black market costs. we're all walking stock brokers. this is the essence of humanity paperweight, maternity leave to funeral costs, we are liabilities from birth to death. this is how it was. this is how it will be.

the drapes greet me an unpleasant morning. the sink drip    drip       drips again & the tiles are colder barefoot. there is a pile of newspapers on the marble counter & dead quiet in the air- until steam billows from the coffee mug. sunlight beams in the room like a visitor & breakfast comes in with a sweet smile. it was 6:30 when i was alone, but 7:00 arrived like a neighbor & i am happy. i have myself, oversized t-shirt & messy hair & the warm comfort of my own skin. i was alone. i'm not anymore.

you bleed like a fountain when the tides aim for saltwater sky & all you want to do is drown- i wonder how long it’ll take for you to stop writing like that. once upon a time, you were blue train tracks rolling down cigarette addiction and soft metaphors. your mother had no way of recognizing you from the sallow skin and crevice-deep wrinkles. you were a cliche romanticizing the evenings, wishing you were dead on paper. a beating heart floats for 30 years in stagnant waters, fragmented like glass windows & diluted bottle messages. you were polluted rivers, deadfish-the flow of words gone as you sit there with your computer static el

it's beautiful to witness dispassion when the dreams drift silently away from the body like a secret. it's as if the moment meant to give my life surrender guises as an average day with me washing the dishes sipping on coffee ready for small reflections how did it ended up like this? 'i'm not the kindred spirit i once was. but no matter. i'm late by 30 minutes & life's moving without me.' ten years ago, i dreamed of writing short stories Time might consider having. now i'm just running out of time and stories altogether. worrying about how i'll make it now considers small, grave details like time management and skills and resumes

the ocean holds no place for fishermen; no hungry sailor looking for a mermaid to sink his teeth into. but these days, their net hands tangle into dolphins and pufferfish and stingrays; women with sea salt hair & barefoot soles wandering about—their soles caught at the edge of their wrists as they swim toward the danger zone. there’s a reason why it’s blue. blood and oil spill all over her belly, afterthoughts drowning in sadness. there is no place for warfare but the space holds everything like a sky hungry for clouds. she is the only piece of quiet left, intoxicated, drifting her own drunk shipwreck searching for rescue&#

she reaches out into the light and i remember how heavy my heart felt when i first saw her she is a golden sort of beautiful and i'm too awkward. when these lungs are less poetic, my words churn out the ability to speak. face teeth lips cheekbones her cheekbones lift a face moonlit in my subconscious she's a daydream trapped in the lining of my pillow & in hollowness; when my body drags out like a zombie, her face is there hands. she is so vivid and so delicate like a lost little ankle-bare beast. kiss in darkness, she's a candle i can't touch & things became less romantic for me when i learned how to have a broken heart f

she is honey curls and honeysuckle, golden sweet wherever the sun touches. on most days, her lips curl the slightest smile- head tilted where the sky is but a touch of blue- and utters the word 'beaut(if)ul' in question. her feet shuffle and her arms close like a space too narrow for the word to reach like silent syllables in French; graceful and unspoken.

    the world's  whirring trapped   in summer skull ears bloated &   the spine's interstitial fluid in a heated  frenzy with prickly   skin and    cruel        sun  the body is heavy   with the weight  on wobbly, bruised   knees  the air thick with breathing the   head     imploding & these ears  oh these    ears trapped needles  & bullets & the pain of  stumbling the art of     fainting am i    spinning or  is  the  world   s p i n n i n g around me?

give yourself a flower and wear your favorite sweater sit in a nice, quiet little coffee shop and meet yourself with that first sip of warmth and a smile. in the afternoon, walk to the nearest park and hold your hands together as if in a prayer like a lover's dream, be sweet to yourself for once. let the kid with the waffle cone and his mother stare at you for 45 seconds while you feed the birds hang those insecurities by the door or tuck them away somewhere in your cabinets or drawers- just take them off today, pick a hot red dress and buy yourself a drink for two tonight, mirror at one end of the table and your love at the other.

The grass fields were as delicate as the spring wind that kept me close to these flightless wings in this wide, open space. Dusts of you lay bare on this mountain, in the air breathing out rain and sun, in dirt and rivers running through this cup of earth you once called home. Every wildflower popping out of this brown shell bent toward the bank where you used to swim, your hands reaching out to some fish or some lost pebble smooth as your skin. It was a cry for birds, your laughter. How it rolls and tumbles like their nests when the air kisses every dancing tree with a passion. You rarely did laugh, much less smile, and I look for it in eve