March 5th, 2009. 5:25pm, My Cave.

I picture you as a lavender smoke against my apple skin
tracing hints between my fingertips in wisps
i begin
to think of what id be like if i was blind
would i keep my lids closed or would i keep them wide
held a stare at the lack of light
eyes open till my pupils are dry
bleaching the details from my iris white

i picture you as a bright red balloon
with your string tied around my wrist
is this
my chance to take you where ever i want to go
or will the wind catch you in it's pull
dragging my bones like child's doll
up and down in a breezy lull
snip the string to an endless fall

i picture you as a rusty copper locket
with a smooth silver chain and clasp
in my pocket
do you contain the pictures of my lost love
or are you an empty shell your panels yet to be filled
holding only the sweet smell of
morning sunlight on my window sill
of yellow light that wakes me up

March 5th, 2009. 5:01pm, My Cave

I am a west breath cutting cold thought your coat to your chest
toss the rest left
because I'm the best dressed
draping my limbs in only the finest drips
but I'm not the captain of this ship
the wheel has gone missing and the sail is permanently ripped
letting the air slip out
like loose words from my mouth
flowing south
picking apart the syllables and casting out the wrong vowels

and the hull is cracked open like a rib cadge
patched up with my leftover blank pages
and were sinking but the captain says

we wont make it much farther
were taking on water
and our make shift escape ships
were made from smoke and wax lips
but the melted in the sun
oh shit
were unaware if well sink or swim

March 5th, 2009. 4:16, My Cave

good morning in the sunshine
and speckled rain on my neck line
looking for the moonshine in a Grey cloud skyline
i listen to the church bells ring hours of my time by
in fifteen minute segments pushing smoke from my throat
left to row this boat alone
back and fourth between roads
i go
from block to block down sidewalks
as my voice scratches like chalk
laying out pictures from 2nd grade stands
but look at us now
we are ash tray shells, pots and pans
i take my broken words
and wrap them in my crooked hands
lost in a simple dance of vanilla smoke in my face
trace and paste the last light of this day to this page
you might leave and ill stay
and pace away to new scenes
finding a way to write down
everything i really mean
dreaming dreams of wet paint
am i a thief or a saint
and i faint at the sight of my blood mixed with rain
my names the same sound as a collapsing roof top
broken boards and wood pop
with splintered fingers and paint chips
equipped
with all the wrong materials to build this ship
but our sly eyed style
leads us to test this mast
made from Polaroid smiles with a sail of broken glass
masking the fact this is our last chance
and forgetting to sleep.

its been

one year since i met you
on a cold back porch
chain smoking with numb fingers
fell in love and lost it somewhere inside a drunk summer
left to a new skyline
and came back in seven days
slept on your chair
and everyone's floor
starting selling my time
found a home and collected paper
scribbled notes to sing or read
and you have a baby in your stomach now
then i forgot my name, and made up a new one
colored the sky blue and learned how to ignore the cold
then caught one
locked myself inside notebooks and nickle wound string
started breathing again
and we don't talk anymore
in one year

then we wrote

on the back of receipts
in bathroom stalls
on your shitty car
in a book
in your friends book
on your hand
on a flier
on rocks
on tables
on the walls of your bedroom
on pictures
on cigarette papers
and matchbooks
on bike frames
on your shoes
with one black sharpie