_'s Journal

looking for somebody's arms to wave away past harms.
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[20 3 05 07 27p]

this is not about love. 'cause i am not in love. in fact i can't stop falling out

in the heat of complacency, a
gratuitous shade of shamelessness
the color of money comes to me, saying:

you are young, and you have the
strength to do something meaningful.
do not waste, do not become
your mother, as she was, cold and
still in autumn nights, callouses
of worried days and knuckles too
difficult to gnaw away

i am lost. i treat boys like old folksongs,
detached stories of malcontent, hunger,
i pick a new one every day to house
in the shelter of my bed,
under the premise of a false pretense, a
bad story of recycled love waiting to be told.

this story is not about love.

i am waiting again for the love that hits you
in the stomach like the cholera in brazil,
the hunger in africa, the plague in the antiquites;
i had it once, i felt it once, i vaguely remember now.

i am waiting for the pretense to be real,
for the seasons to allocate themselves under my
eyelids, dripping milk from saucers to feed the world

i am waiting again for nights of truth,
beauty in color, the passion of youth, the misunderstanding
of unrequited helplessness. the promise of new bodies
breathing next to me no longer excites. the promise of
new lives no longer entertains. i need
release. i need

the truth; that
i will live
through this

and come out whole

(1) > nothing.

[28 2 05 05 04p]

18th April 2004
12:13am:

once is not enough

i.
i, warm, above the earth, cold
bodies coalescing in despair; we are
surgeons perfecting the masterpiece
of an autopsy, the strategically misplaced
decay of youth next to i, you, me, cold
fingertips to caress a feeling left alone, the lines
protruding from the branches of
the trees outside your window. it's
winding its spring, every hour of every day,
a mass of sentiment and bone cracking,
fractures punching numbers, the lonliness
abound, the love none, and none coming.

i am stretching my body across the earth,
seeking geography and a way out of the
pointed structures portraying our doom.
the sky like a symbol of a loss. our bodies
like lost hope, the decay of youth. the
murder of displacement and tight sheets
to keep your secrets in, some words like
honey, dripping over me.

ii.
that you and i, we once
devoured this city, every inch of skin
laid claim and

now

every memory erased. i am writing you
the end of this. the politics of my soul
disintegrating. i already know my death.
i accept it. i am honest. i want nothing more

than to be the recipient of
love; that you would drop your soul
and body to the floor to
make me yours; that you would
read and understand;

iii.
understand i have a fantasy. i want
you to drink martinis with me, jump across
state lines and mountain ranges through
the visceral reality of the universe, the
amalgamation of skin and passion and feeling;
i want a life devoid of the politics of memory,
the feeding frenzy of sentimentality
that grows rotten and cryptic as years pass;
i want nights of sleep, covered in comfortable
darkness and silence, a language shared by
you and i, me and you, the most integral
part of my soul, combined;

iv.
i dig my fingernails into my shoulders.
i want to kiss until it hurts. love until it matters.
strangle until it suffocates. jump off the
roof of a high-rise and be caught at the bottom.
i want to tell you that i really think
i'm finished. my body has a jealousy that's
through eating at my skull. anger and love
and peace and hate and sex. communication.
i want you in my bed, between my mattress.
no more imagined infidelities, no more
insecurity. to know that maybe

i am beautiful, and you are there, watching me.

to consume myself with this, this, this, this, this;
a death awaits. and every piece of bone
i lose will be a victory. i don't want to need you to
navigate my fate. i want to need you to justify
my life.

v.
the bones keep my secrets in,
i can feel them creaking, they are singing,

you quickly
run out of
things to
live for now

their branches creak and break and armageddon awaits.
and there's nothing. no kiss me kiss me kiss me it's the end or
come here come here i need you now its over or
im glad my life was life because of you

so you navigate the city
and walk away.

(4) > nothing.

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