Monthly Archives: March 2014



The only fossil left on earth left in the palm of my hand.

If you see something, say something, or so I’ve been told.

The only city I know has been bleached in bad taste.

When we wake, the world has gotten rid of its traffic signals.

When we wake, no one remembers who was broken.

In every dream, I see you covered in blankets.

I can barely make out your face.

The elevators have frozen; we must take the stairs.

How elegant the galaxy looks in the heat of July.

In the heat of the moment, we make love in our bomb shelter.

Tell the earth to keep shaking.

Watch the brownstones unlock their prejudiced doors.

When I close my eyes, the world is covered in dust and the world is mine.

When the sheets conform to our skeletons.

Vertigo ripped my house in half.

You’re the comic relief looking through my gilt-framed mirror.

You try to exhume my nostalgia.

I make us into paper dolls that slide beneath locked doors and no one is ever home.

Walk me through the Stations of the Cross.

We forget each other’s names.

Every item on every grocery list crossed out and fed to hungry families.

Lets retreat to fake sleep.

I have you cover my eyes in case a beam of light enters the periphery.

My dream and your dream sip chamomile tea behind blackout curtains.

Love grows from an abscess.

Tensile love supporting each earth.

The only saint I worship is Ursula.

You carve me a slice of crescent moon with your dirty fingernails.

When the end comes, we must be ready.

We armor ourselves in necklaces of bone and five red bats.

Not one dream catcher.

We’re groping the side of a cliff while trying to fall.

Here’s a candlelight vigil for your favorite mirage.

The only sentiment left in this world is can you hear me.

You can have the inside of the bed.

I will grow a garden of knives beneath the mattress.

We ebb and flow tyranny like the Romans.

I forget when I last saw the sun.

I forget the difference between day and night.

When my doppelganger looks up from the street and I am stationary in my secret annex.

She has been watching for at least a week.

I hope the asteroid strikes soon.

We wait for disemboweled misery’s defense.

I see antlers on the roof of every car fleeing this refugee camp.

I scratch reason into sacred runestones and they disintegrate.

The only dreams I have now are debased by foggy morals.

I have already written the ending to our tragedy.

You say, isn’t that something.