Delayed Hellos

WE thrive on delayed hellos.

Abbreviated breaths linger in the cold.

You cling-

I cling-

At the thought that this could all come collapsing

Like the gravity of time upon the oak trees as they fall

And decompose in the forest,

Eaten away until fungus tears at the bark like

Hyenas do the flesh.

Shiver at the thought.

Your hands are so cold.

Gaze into the coming Autumn blessing us slowly

A red haze approaches with a deliberate lack of haste.

We become frostbitten as the waxed Summer

Quickly wanes into the archives of our diminishing minds.


That these moments

(Sitting on a bench in a circular park

Staring amorously at one another

Wishing that the thoughts purveying through our veins

Could touch briefly

Just so we knew–

–that we really knew)

Will disintegrate

As we are merely casual observers

Distancing with each hour.

I tell you to not worry

Ask that you to not shade your eyes

Or hide your face in the crevice of your arm

Continuously enveloping yourself into yourself.

You are beautiful

As you are carried from the chaos of the world

To me.

A flash in your mind goes off

This second is captured and discarded.

Disposed polaroids of our abbreviated past

Printed our surprised and jovial expressions

Just in case, if you forget me

In this expiring light

Recreated only in the re-expansion of our universe

Should we live once more.

I hope we do.

I hope we do.

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In Tandem

I have come to you at a strange time in your life-
Ash rubs clean from your bronzed skin in the harshing gail.
Your loose tears fall from above me
When you speak so freely of yourself.
You cling
As if there was nothing left
In these cauterized wounds
Left barren from the fire.

Could you feel this
on your own?

The diamonds cascade at your feet
Signifying nothing.
Escape into the vast wilderness armed with a dagger and blind hope
Pointing true to the north you prescribe to
As you swim alone through the empty fields.

“They pour whiskey on everything.”

Stumble through the bright lights of the desert
Placating your compatriots twenty paces ahead.
Mumble incoherently about your lost loves who still creep
And weave in and out of the gap of your ulna and radius,
Coming to a halt at your lonesome fingertips
Still wet,
Still dripping with saltwater and gin.

The angels and heralds have evacuated the room;
Sleep on a bed watched over by crystalline chandeliers.
Sweat profusely
While you clutch with the might of your sunken past
For something-
Something beautiful
Something present
Something that reminds you of your stronger self,
The you never beaten down with the voices of discontent
Chipping away at the breast bone you hid under
Lavender sheets and crossed arms gripping the other,
Leaving you wondering,
Oh love-of-mine.

I adore you in the sunshine.
I adore the ash that falls steadily from your disappointed face
The rivers that come crashing when your heart opens with a fervor.
Nothing compares to your stifled heart singing,
Emerging from a cage,
Decades old,
Coming un-done in tandem.

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Ardor Left to Itself

I am surprised to see you.
In the light
you I were much too excited
to sleep soundly
in your cottage of jagged bones and trysts.
Caught within a singular hour
crooning in a high-pitched hum, you love it all
asking if today is amazing
arms extending past the front door, over the patio.

Turn and turn until the folds of your dress
wrinkle in a familiar fashion.
We dance
you turn simply with a pirouette
dalliance among the wilting dahlias
have you heard this all before?

Wasting the hours we have left with
the same sycophantic speeches of
adoration, copulation, and the such.

I love you baby did he say that to you
did he tell you that
you meant so much
as the two of your stared into each others eyes,
envisioning distances stretching into nothing,
to be left in a heaped mess,
humming yourself the songs of your father’s warmest embraces and
your mother’s caring heart?

We wave desperately at the oceans,
only to dream about our end
our lives
our lives topple to the ground in one rigid motion,
full of gravity
caving slowly.

I will turn to stone tomorrow afternoon
when you disperse back into this forsaken universe.
Angled angled angled down
past the cleave and bend of your frail back
oh oh oh oh the words I say
the words he said
we all say that you are,
that you are beautiful and that we love your short sundress
even before your words flutter upon our ears like drunk fruit-flies
and we bat them away with our open paws
and devour.
Wipe away the blood and skin
from wrist to elbow
we are primal beasts
you are the prey.

Let us speak until our dead bodies become colder
become colder in the frozen tundra
crawling on purple, bruising hands and knees
for bread and dirty water .
I thought
(the last time I saw you,
you had something in your hands,
grasping a lily,
or maybe a clutch of lavender,
up upon the shores of your mother’s staircase
abandoned by the men you loved.)
we cannot save one another until the regal and handsomer have had their way with you
and I,
staring into the shallow gaps of your tears and
confessional moments in the night,
learn that I was never meant for you.
Someone, (I believe it was myself),
told me that I’d be sorry-

We will become a tangled wreckage of loathing and carnage
and the children will no longer bear
to witness the catastrophe of us.
they will smash their compass
(the one we handed)
and set sail.

shall we proceed
unimpeded like our mothers and fathers did
or did not do.

I do not understand.

Sit back relax this drink is just for tonight this night is just tonight do you not know where you’ve been wash up in this basin and clean yourself up you’re a mess god why didn’t you go to Harvard and be a strong woman.

Everybody Leaves Without Saying Goodbye

Bones wrapped in
Oak casings.
Run with your mother
And father. Distress comes
When you finally forget their names.

His hand shakes
Holding the New York Times
Claims that it wavers in the wind.
Swallow, swallow your food.
Trapped in a fate.

Sometimes the men drink
Too much
And the women drink
Too much
She falls upon her back in the cul-de-sac.
Jovial men and women procreate
To their shadows, emotions,
Copulate and metabolize,
Sharing their most ideal faces.
And they forget.

Hours and hours
Years and years
Elapse without a word
Calling. Calling
Until the roving clouds shade their eyes,
Grasping at the mist floating
in this somber morning
when we thought we loved.

Maneuver her silence.
Discover his flesh and bones
and nothing more.
He is nothing more
Bed sores and thread and menagerie
and a dim light from the window over the street
pining for

Who are
Young and virile
Dancing upon the facade
Gazing into the lengthy Boston streets

He sighs into the window
She begs for another home
as this reminds her of
shattered windows
and screams from the foyer.

The moon cleans the hallways clean,
Dispels the disbelief;
Dispels your remembering
Drowns the shaking from your roots
Until they’re done waiting for you.

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I would fend off time while holding you in my arms
As the dust,
Visible only in the rays of light that radiate down at an angle,
Clings for dear life to your aching body.
Your skin
Folds in upon itself-

And you cry,
Staring in the mirror,
As it slowly splits from the center,
Asking me (shaking) where it all went.

You silently scream for the days
When you would jump and dance with carelessness.
Screaming in the park near your father’s home
Pulling lavender and lilacs from the gardens
That lined the open path.

In the new-born mornings
I would brush the dying light from your stomach
Clutching it in our struggling hands.

I just want us to be alone.

Gasping, the silence that protrudes into our concave words
Hollowed until the sun may rise
On some unfortunate morning,
For this too shall pass.

But then you sing the words so starkly out of tune.
Shuck and jive in the presence of strangers.
Doo-wop doo-wop
That thing
And now you’re in love.

Gazing from the kitchen window,
Past the potted plants that line the sill,
I see you reminiscing in the garden,
Tracing the splintered planter box,
Staring down at the mounds of dirt;
Discover your foreshadow.

Remember London?
Remember the Avenues des Champs-Elysees
After the Winter rains would push the chestnuts down
Onto the sidewalk in front of us,
And you would grab one and hold it in your diminutive hand,
Only to plant it later
So we can create something that will last?
For we will not last,
Longer than this tree,
For this is fact,
And this is truth.

We grasp to little drops of hope
Fallen from the browned shingles,
Evaporating slowly as the light cannot sear it fast enough.

I swear
One day
This will all become better.
You will arrive at a hasty realization
After standing stagnant in a lavender field
When the moon’s weakened light
Teeters on the crest of each wave
Slowly enveloping the other enveloping the other,
Its iridescence faintly gracing each vanishing top
Into the mouth of another and another.

And I
Similar to you
Will walk into this unforeseen circumstance
Creating and destroying with ingenious hands.
Come to a realization in some somber morning-

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Mornings, they stumble

Mornings, they

Morning, they stumble
Witness the progression
Milling fathers and mothers.
A line,
Sweep their solemn feet across the pavement.


Wait for something blessed and holy
On this Monday morning.

Breaks in the clouds permit their slow restitution.
Holy, holy sun.
Holy, holy day.

They wait for their train to come
Hear its vibration in the rusted tracks
Chugging along.
They raise their necks
In silent, silent anticipation;
And they stumble

On this awkward morning
When God is found, resting in the front-most car.
He waits for his stop.
Face buried deep down in his hands.
Face buried deep within her hands.
Children sleep pristine sleep the whole ride through.
Gazes at the blasphemes
Sweeping their feet across the forsaken landing.
Dust rises,
Goldening in the ostentatious sunlight, bending-

Who calls?
The men and women quietly pass
Wait, Wait,
Pass, Wait.
(Only sometimes)
They act.

It is the time.
Do not ask.
(What is it?)
Let us go
Dance wildly in the windy avenues.
Hum along with the scales chattering up and down
White and black keys in a poor-man’s symphony
Lovers wearing out their welcomes.
Don’t ask.

Mornings become auspicious.
Women gregariously speak to men,
Men call with chivalrous tones.
Happiness comes in the new-born mornings
Foxtrot upon the wires carrying our crackling voltage.
Courageous nights spring
From his and her’s sprouting mind,
Escaping from the seams of the tuxedos and sundresses,
Unfurling as they twirl in the raging twilight.
Breaths escape from the open mouths
Directed northward as the rain falls.
They spin.
Now they are here.
Now they are aging.

Now they are here.
Now they are aged.

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Wasted Time

Ensure me
That I will not waste away in the Greyhound terminal
Sitting on a soaking seat
Somewhere between 8:10 and 8:30pm
Counting the seconds as I shiver
Shoo’ing away the workers and police officers
Questioning whether I am waiting for you, or loitering.

Or that I will not wind up
On the sands of Santa Barbara
Skin burning only on my palms and
The nape of my neck
Clenching and unclenching sand
In a rhythmic yet careless tempo
Holding on and then letting go
And holding on and then finally.
Letting go.

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What a life
To lose in a cascading fashion.
Waterfalls falling into waterfalls,
Running slowly out to sea.

Speak until the distance no longer seems
As if it truly exists.
Shout into the ether,
“I do remember, and it was fine!”

Long gone.
Far past the wavering mountains
Subsiding on the Eastern shores
She, softly slow dancing with strangers.

Gather yourself in the sun’s glow
Waking forever slow.
Rising northward with an arrested mouth,
Houses creak as they break apart.

Our time slowly comes to an end
Then stops without noise.
Hands motionless, knee-high
Giving themselves a break from the furious wringing.

Hapless, reckless
Read the postcards with a bitter spite.
Remember the splendid dances when we were poor.
I do remember,
And they were fine.

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I will find you
Wading in the afterthought
Searching in the temperate bay.
My heart and hands withering from the wringing,
Jettisoned from the nearest cliff
“Polina, Paulina.
Where are you
In this narrow space?
I must tell you so,
All this time I waste.”

I pull myself up from the floor
By the skin of my aged teeth.
In Two-Thousand and Ten
In a glorious failure of changes and expectations,
We changed.
May you never know this song is about you,
Don’t you-
Don’t you ever discover
That the men fall in love too quick
And break hearts far too slow
For your own good.

With your gregarious eyes and magnanimous mouth,
Forgive me,
As I drift in the pond of inaction,
Tapping myself softly in the temple for hours,
From here on ever.

I will drink until I see your face
In the fading array of stars
On this unfortuitous Friday night.
Clamoring down the city streets
Just to make a racket.
I hope you will hear
And you’ll come from behind the corner of a drugstore or diner,
(Alone, of course)
Say hello,
(As I am fading fast)
Pull me up from the gutters and from myself,
(Glowing refractions in the pools of water in the streets
Begin to darken)
Take my hand so as to take care
(In a shattering falsetto
“At once
I knew
I am not magnificent.”)
My words stick to my clothing,
Desperately wandering down the alleys to discover
Wrong names
Incorrect ideas
Now ingrained into my fontanel

Jutting from my ribs are my ribs.
Are your ribs
Scraping against each other in a cacophonous disharmony?
Are you nervous?
Is that even possible?
Angle myself towards the rocks in the water
My trajectory falls not in my favor.

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Sundress radiates
From top to flowering bottom.
Tumbling petals in the turbulence
She fluoresces in her ascension.
There is a space between.
Speak of me like jetsam, defenestrated.

Honestly, I tell you permeating words
Of craven moments.
Meandering though the sultry air of this cabin,
A pressure exerts upon us
Limbs and chest tied to our seats
I am a captive of my own volition.

Coming to an impossible halt
We are aloft in the air
Dreaming in a dreamless state
Disembarking from this familiar plot of land

Twisting in the afternoon
Speaking about baby bears and altered paths from what was our inevitability.
She is forever lost
Discovered and squandered
In one fell swoop of cowardice.
The fool plays a fool just fine.

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