enemy of mine (song)

- this is a song i wrote with curt clendenin. i mostly knocked out the verses and he knocked out the chorus. -

when did it happen when you became an enemy of mine?

was it all the times i forgot to call or visit or write?

was it when we went to dinner and i let you pay?

was it when i first tried to kiss you and you were afraid?

         i lost my hold upon your throat

         that makes you say the sweet things

         i did not know my love would choke

         and my missed treats were drowning

was it my propensity, my tendency to walk away,

before you finish exactly what you wanted to say?

was it the check for our rent that i bounced,

or the taste of liquor in my wanting mouth,

my love?

        i lost my grip around your throat

        i pray will say the sweet things

        i did not know that i would choke

        as if my words were drowning

       i meant to treat you gold

       when did we become cold

       my love?

when did it happen when you became an enemy of mine?

maybe it was the time when i asked you where you were and you lied?

maybe it was the way you'd change when we were with your friends.

maybe its all the bullshit i'll never deal with again

why love?

       i meant to treat you gold

       when did you become cold

       why love?

untitled

from a balcony

tipped by lower back pain

and rusted mesh covered

in paint

eyes drop

through branches

before resting

scarred

on the ground

glares fall

on lovers talking

louder than i can write

lids close

on a lot

with cars parked between ribs

and the chalk staining

my hands

smiles cast

and left smeared on asphalt

or lost in grass

before i reel them in

with the line cut

your eyes

steal refection and funnel

it away to be lost

within you

blind my mouth and

my hands with

deeper hues than

a painter's dream

or a lover's last words

are my favorite

season trapped somewhere

between a friday in fall

and a spring night warm

enough to leave our jackets

behind

stall me

before i remember

my defenses

before i remember

to dismantle yours

argue with midnight

for the chance to

steal the sky's light

and fill the air

with their totality

are what i first

remembered about

you

and why i have trouble

remembering anything

else

untitled

see the words that
arch before you
spelled not in letters
but in movements and glances
i now understand truth
differently than before
without abstractions
without theory
it no longer strives
for timelessness
but reserves its place
in each moment
sometimes days in adavance

It's Common

I've spilled before like coffee, cold, in ceramic. Only to dry in the cocentric rings of an unused saucer. It happens as easily  when I am picked up, as when I am set down. Now I find myself ready to leave the cup. I want to jostle myself into a lap, onto the floor. To jump from the lip and let myself be felt. I want you to break the handle, hide the saucer, and smuggle me into your flask, to be consumed at your leisure.

untitled

Where does fault nest
nights
lying on wire
found in
a blue dumpster
dying from rust
and rainwater
the blood
from collapsing blue
and strands
pulled loose from
discarded
wool sweaters
of a grandmother dead
2 years
forgotten 4
Wingspan as large
as you'll make it
or help me
pull
feathers coming loose in
my hands
inked and oiled
they taste like bleeding gums

wade.

a night spent trying to understand how she can fit 27 possibilities into a smile as wide as a postcard. that i forgot to write. and she forgot to send. so we can save it until next December. when it will happen again. days before she travels to a bridge to hear the echo of her boots. on wood. on water. on rock. that grows next to pansies that are the color of a hobo’s knuckles. violent and blue. bone splashes of pressurized white. she will sing to them with her fingers. and give me delicate memories to write about. there but not then we will vow to never break the sky and to never again argue with gravity. and i’ll confess my ideas are not always as large as my ideologies. we’ll agree that touch is always best in the morning as we circle the freckles on each other’s arms in the midday. then she’ll leave. grass in her hair though she never once lied down. dreams rolling down her neck. and sewing themselves into the ground. sensation dripping from her hair though she never stepped into the water.