[027] Collected Scraps.
07/09/2007 05:02 p.m.

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for the love of God, boy,
i haven't seen you in five years.

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you're my species, sparrow-saken, you're my heartfelt.
you're the reason why i gave the man the slip.

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there's nothing left for me to write about.
i am too deeply content.
at the same time i am engulfed with a worried longing.
promises this to me.
doesn't.

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my wing-tips have touched
the hollow tender of the sky
and come back charred --

or, touched by god --

i have felt them twine down the bloated slopes of my back.

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i believe in usuality.
a minimum, the occasional maximum.
i'd like to settle down.

from day one all i've wanted is ordinary.
they say that different people change the world.

i wanted
who needs significance?

i have accepted "stuck."

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i describe both of you as having no commong sense.

you are who i think of when i think of
orlando
chicago
l.a.
and the subtleties of sex and warfare, no really really
what do i look like at this age and disposition?
what do you?

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everytime we're together, i want to tell you,
that to me you are how difficult it is
to light a cigarette on the beach
and how badly i remember
our shared grunge 90's.

you are one of the many women i've kissed
absentmindedly
but the only one i've laid with naked
in the sea.

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sometimes we don't talk for months
and god knows why.
everytime my world falls stumbling apart,
i always fall towards you.

it was my birthday on easter sunday this month,
and you're the only one to ever consider me silence.

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it's hard to tell you that i've loved you
when these days you rend my spine,
but for eons i'd forgiven you
and paid it back myself.
instead i want the world to know you're horrid,
and even more than that,
to then agree.

i had hoped that you'd disintegrate
into the gravel cracks of Richmond Heights,
but you're thriving off the pain
and living off the filth.

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i have travelled this feeble distance.

i've got a lot of babies,
but not one quite like you,
who bruises up my fingers with his teeth.

for you, i have travelled this feeble distance.
my boy with the too-long
arabic name,
anywhere more north than 163rd
and i search for your face in every car.

but you wouldn't recognize me.

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it's too early to assume.
negrito, no te quiero,
no te quiero.

per negrito, tu conoces?
Conoces que cuando tu estas triste,
yo estoy tambien?
yo estoy.

gravemente, baby,
because i cut my hair off and
pluck my eyebrows on
your behalf.

porque no te quiero.
por que no te quiero?
E porque.

gravemente, dollface,
it's too early to assume,
but i live a better life than you.

con todo mi corazon
con toda mi alma,
mi negrito.

gravemente.

ahora tu sabes nada.
ahora
con todo mi corazon
y toda mi alma
negrito;
yo no te quiero.

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i am not afraid to die,
as we've discussed.
this lack of fear is neither courageous
nor heroic.

i know i needn't be afraid because
once dead i won't know fear.

or need. to sleep, perhaps to dream?
i do not expect to die.

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baby it was good to see you.

we don't talk about the day we met.
it's a taboo wrought of streelights
and harsh concrete gritty under my palms,
the way we kissed out all the kisses
from the months before
and you yelled at a girl i knew
and made me cringe.

i cannot tell if it's because i was ugly
or because a week later you'd
be dating some Hialeah girl
with fake tits that left scars
on her ribcage.

the day we met a stranger i'd
mistaken for a friend had
called me beautiful.
she told me how she'd run away from home
and smoked cigarettes in front of me
on the uncomfortable benches
at the mall.

it was the day before Halloween,
and a surprise.
to this day i associate you with
the French Quarter
and an egyptian middle name.

three months later i would
forgive you, minorly.
our friend would call us vicious,
watching us vulgar in the farthest seat
of the train.

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i remember a lot of
being naked and
a lot of
your aftershave.
an old friend, who
remembers me young and dumb, she
brings you up in
conversation and
what i remember is

lying on the back of your car at fourteen
and hoping my mother wouldn't notice
your fingers kneading up my body.
i hoped you found me beautiful
even though i was ugly, looking back.

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hot damn Miami five a.m. dark and rainy and
swerving on the wet of I-95 North and
i'm listening to some industrial remix so loud that
i can't hear my own horn.

this song reminds or two, three summers back
(i can't keep times straight)
i had linked its lyrics with the splits in the boards of a floating dock,
i wanted to be a hippy punk goth glam rock star and together
we would bite each others necks and hope your parents wouldn't see.

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baby girl, you decorate your body like a junkyard
don't get me wrong.
i love the way that all-stainless USA
tie wire hangs clink-clank in your collar bone loop.
you picked it off the welding room floor while
trying to think of excuses to get him out of work.

i want to announce that i don't really talk anymore.
i don't talk dirty,
i don't talk trash,

i want to announce that i've shut down.
all i do is write poetry very few people read
and draw bulging eyeballs that nobody cares to see
and i'm content but

i may be fading.
if the importance of self is defined by social significance
i may be fading.

i decorate my body like a junkyard.





I am currently Calm