• clip

    i remember the look on your face in the first snip on the threshold of my bedroom door, i remember, your fears gathered in the corner across from where you sleep; i have cycled back to the first snip under a new winter sun, how funny, i’ve loved you through many faces, only to clip…

  • debt

    there is a word debt i owe, for having opened prematurely to things unsightly that wore your face; spider webs veil these caverns and Arachne has seized to sing in her frenzy; have you seen darkness dense pressed against your skin? 

  • calluses

    there are calluses where softness was, i am not sure why what was owed required a blood price; don’t press even a needle towards me, i cannot take it, reason has left, the lines that defined now look like a madman’s quest for—what is it in the first place? 

  • live

    you talk about life over platefuls of death, and never once invite her silence into the lights you so love; what about blue revulses you? yet i cannot take redness whole; too heavy even if my body carries the mantle of it; accents red can i paint over lips, eyes, neck, hands and feet, no…

  • static

    to be contextualized, carved by the wound from static; protruding villi from a mass of flesh; of it and not of it, it and not it, half-births and half-deaths, gravity and space, mirrors bent refract, repeated, repeated, still—

  • specter

    i like the strings strung from the abysmal edge cracked by the hammer of my promised lies; every breath whistles, strikes, vibrates into oblivion; so thinned, even sunlight shimmers like a specter through skin—i wish to play you as you play me,

  • unreal

    if i close my eyes, the world doesn’t exist is it? so long as i don’t see, all remains unreal, no blink of a previous image; you promise me two winters, before silence breaks fast, penance for violation, and i seek no further than my arms; leave me be so, till breath times itself,

  • more

    words that drop like rain, words that run across, words that burst like images; the degrees to a scent; what compels to speak sound, read the lines on my face, the slopes of my shoulders, bent angle of each finger; do you need more?

  • except

    i cannot know less than forever; nothing stills time like loss, finality has eternity written in it and i want that inked between us—is, was, and will be; the ocean is in the stars, the veins unspill, everything unwrites except this, this

  • true

    it’s not possible on this mud for our feet to stay, we only exist in the skies; mud unsweetens what it pulls and i do not know how to reach through skin; the devil plays the long-game, checkmate before the first step—mud, cover me for the colour of my sky to be true,