Apr 19

Germination

Apr 11

Crosswalk

We forget every day to wear
shoes out of the house, especially 
when it is warm
and the sun drips from the sky 
like an overripe mango.

We no longer look both ways
before we cross the street,
or while
or after. 

We are too eager,
too care-free,
too much "go"
and not enough "slow".

"Hold my hand," he says as if I trust him,
as if I ever could. 
"Yes," is not an option anymore. 

We are own obnoxious warning signs. 
Apr 01

City 6.24


We are holding up the sun 
when, after the sky is in full bloom,
we contemplate the distance around the Earth,
and how far we are from the equator,
and if we will ever stand on it.

We are the ones you see
out of the corner of your eye
when you stand at the window of someone else's house
and feel like crying and try to stop but do it anyway. 

We are the ones
on top of the building on the corner of Canal Street.

We are the ones you try to find in the middle of the night:
eyes squinting into the black stairwell, 
damp feet on the wooden floor,
try and can't. 

We love to get lost
and never found.
Mar 25

We Are Learning There is More to Life than Breath

I've been dreaming of him lately
and for the past three years. 

I understand living has everything
to do with dying
and not the other way around. 

I am aware there is irony
in sleeping till noon
and staying up past midnight. 

I am aware most people
are helpless or hopeless
or both. 

I understand that music is not the solution
to loneliness
or love
or falling out of either. 

We are learning that most questions
are rhetorical. 

I never want to wake up. 
Mar 25

Lincoln's Peak

Mar 21

Traffic

Mar 18

Layers


I relearned today
about Earth's seven layers. 
I knew about them in 6th grade
but only in hazy, nondescript detail. 

Scientist's knowledge about the Earth
is only based on hypotheses. 

We don't actually know for sure
what we are standing on every day. 

All these layers of uncertainty
reminded me of myself. 

Do I have a mantle? 
What's really inside of me? 
Could someone tell how solid I am just by holding me? 

I cry when something inside me shifts. 
Am I all that measurably different from earthquakes? 

Are we defined by our core's composition,
or just by the way we feel when we are proven to exist? 
Mar 03

City Sunrise (A First Try at Abecedarian Poetry)

At the corner of 
Bowery mornings start with
Coffee brewed on last night's dreams and the refusal to 
Dampen darkness when it is uncontrollable.

Effervescence is his way of telling me to wake up. Summer sunrises are 
Forged from the unlocked door and are
Gone when they awake. 

He is happiness and mirror-
Images of yesterday, when
Just we were enough.

Keeping myself whole on car rides home is 
Like trying to stop the
Mouse from getting eaten by the
Night-watch
Owl.

Punctuation leaves a hole where there should be breaths. 
Quiet has to be
Reasoned with and 
Stolen from the
Tired metal staircase of an over-
Used Manhattan apartment.

Villany is our aspiration 
When the infinite 
Xenial skylines of 
Your childhood put 
"Zoom" in the word leaving. 
Feb 20

Accidental Living

We are fighting entropy 
in our sleep.

We fold the blankets halfway over, 
fill our brains with blue light,
fall asleep on our sides. 

I recognize your desperate face
in the moon's craters. 
I find your fingerprints 
on paper bags, my bedroom door knob, oranges: 
sweet smelling with the nectar of cities
and dirty rainwater, pouring down broken pavement
after the first spring storm. 

I wouldn't say I'm looking for you,
just noticing the way traces of you
are sprinkled over my life. 

I might be falling apart,
I might miss something I've never had, 
I might accidentally love everyone who smiles at me,
but I refuse to believe I'm the opposite of chaos. 

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