maybe then

you know i don't have yr antidote and you don't have my cure, but maybe once they've coaxed the poison from yr veins and maybe once i've expelled these fears from my rattling lungs, maybe then. maybe then our downward spirals will pause or at least align. maybe then you'll visit, and we can sleep through days and ride through nights on our newly brakeless bikes shouting revolutionary slogans and painting the pavement with pearls of wisdom. and maybe then we'll learn how to unlearn these secrets behind our eyes; maybe then we'll remember how to see our own reflections in these beautiful broken buildings, broken skies, and we'll laugh at these absurd games of falling down.

feeding frenzy

i like to call this poison healing, though it might seem more like destruction, or at least distraction. erasure, and i bet the word rubber comes from rub rub rubbing out these smudges and smears and changing names so we can reuse old love notes without having to rewrite them. there's dirt in the creases of these blankets, dirt and skin and smoke, and it's been nothing but these fingers for almost two weeks. two weeks! no nose and no earlobes. i started screening my calls when i realized i didn't have that secret cave you're asking about, and i've been shoving falafel balls into the edges of my windows to block the windy reality from getting to my bare eyelashes, and it's been three songs in a row about lightning, but there's no such thing as a good storm in this part of the world. i miss hurricanes and green thunder skies. i like to tell people here stories about our pokeberry war paint and hardwood snobberies, but i can't even recall which one i am.


(i kind of miss being soft and nervous and impressible, being self-conscious and predictable. i kind of miss being bashful and wrapped.)

celebration

we're writing in the air, spelling out giggly odes to tupperware and unionization, and we're imagining vegan cookies shaped like hearts to show how we feel about all this powdered sugar glam rock confusion, and he's coming at you with a mascara wand but you just run yr hands thru yr flapperesque hair and corner the grinning dog lover to ask him his middle name while i run in circles trying to high five everyone in sight. we nibble on toast like there's no tomorrow. as serious as yr life. please know how much this is not appreciated. please sharpen all yr pencils and line up yr books on yr desk. the cymbals are too much for me at this hour of the morning, feverish pillowcase and all.

rapunzel

i feel like rapunzel - everyone reaching out for the whirlwind of my bright hair or my eyes or the way we kiss, reaching out for something to grasp onto. you want to climb up to some fairytale world on my tresses, to steal me away from my fierce solitude, my promiscuities, but i've grown a bit too fond of my high tower and my not-needing-nobody state of mind. and we can be lovers for a moment but i don't think i can save you from yr broken heart or yr routine life or the chemicals you crave; i don't think my unsturdy careless gestures are enough to prop you up for long. i'm so scared when you grasp at me like this, when i know i can't fix things the way i wish i could, the way you think i can. rapunzel, but i'm cutting off my hair.

revolve

whiskey slurpees on downtown corners. drinking on porches with nothing much to say. parks and picnic tables, alleys and dumpsters and playgrounds, playing tag and collapsing on plastic slides to lie staring up at what few stars break through this chicago smog, throwing out thoughts about bats and skies and being kids, about politics and protests and travels and places. parties, all bikes and 40s and punk bands playing, linked arms and sideways grins. sidewalks brimming with cigarettes and dogs and drunk come-ons, wobbly rides home.

people who get excited about the things i get excited about, who play games and laugh at the stars. scruffy souls. i like 'em.

gritty snitty

i'll cook you some grits - the instant kind, in the microwave - if only you roll yr pants up to show those skinny calves when you walk, and tape my ripped-up bike map back together in a way that makes everything not so far away. and if you like organic apples maybe i'll bake you a pie, or maybe not, but if you flash a grin my way i'll at least wink a promise in return. cuz i'm trying, trying real hard, to remember my what's and where's and who's, to mind my p's and q's, but mostly i want to just throw these menus and these phones up into the air down into the chicago river and never hear rings or make choices again - mostly i want you to grab me tight and save my solidity. i want to save all these bored pacing creatures at the zoo, nowhere, no nowhere, to be quiet & inconspicuous. stares get stale. you put on yr raincoat and laugh at my dripping hair, at the jeans clinging to my thighs and i laugh too cuz the power's flickering and the summer's slipping away.