When we resurrect, we won't see our Christ,
but will look into the needle of the scientist.

Mumford and Sons was playing, and they said "heart" a lot.

Touch his warmth and hold it, hold it, hold it,
hold it. Hold onto these petals
while they're still tender
and before your desire has crisped, flaked, and passed.

I fell in love with the man in my dream

He snuck flowers inside his sleeves to surprise her,
and they were warm as lips
and wilted.

The Mishaps

The elevator closing on my legs and dragging me up until my legs break, tear, and bleed.

New Years Eve, from 2011 to 2012. Friends talking about a suicide, how the remaining body resembled an accordion. I've awoken from day dreams at night, clutching onto my blanket with my toes and hands, shaking my head, no no. In my dreams, she falls from the window she is swinging her legs out of, her toes bare and stretching as if under beach sand, but the snow blows in. I dream that she'll slip from my fingers, from the window sill, like a dream unremembered, like a hallucination that never was. And I wake up from that nightmare and hold onto her with all that I have: my sheets, my shirt, my hands forming into clammy fists. But she didn't fall. She-could-have is what scares me.

Bumping into a body from another dimension as if bumping into kids in a high school hallway.


These are the things I fear.

Coffee House, Open Mic

"This is a poem that I just wrote" translates as a way to feel better about yourself, because if your poem sucks, your excuse is that you just wrote it and didn't have sufficient time to revise. And if it's great, you'll appear to be a prodigy child, a genius, to write something magnificent, or just very good, in a short amount of time.