no your poem is not good

ever wondered why your white pages turned black?

ever thought about investing in a pack?

did you really think you could use your hands?

or did you really think I was gone,

lost to the sands?

you're gross,

terrible

an' tall

and I want you to feel that way,

want you to feel small.

I won't forget your tongue twisted sins

that made you blush

and write a shitty poem.

I'm just waitin' for when this begins,

so I can tear your lips off

and make your fingers go numb.

The Faraway Chess Game

"See, and now it's your turn."

She dragged her fingers across the board, clumsily brushing each wooden piece before deciding on grabbing a Knight.

"I like horsies."

"You've mentioned."

She slid the bold, black Knight five squares forward, decimating any hope I had for myself as a successful instructor.

"No, that's wrong."

"Oh. Woops! Sorry. I knew that. I knew that."

Without making direct eye contact with me, she leaned forward to once again take hold of the Knight, and returned it to its original location. She flicked her eyes around the board for a bit, and it was clear she was getting bored— the shred of interest that may have been there before, was gone. I didn't let on that I noticed.

"L Shape."

As if a curse she had once heard spewed before, she instantly scooted the piece one square towards me, and two squares to my right. She then looked up at me. I tried to genuinely look at her, too. But I was lost, in the game. I needed to be lost in the game.

"Do you miss your girlfriend?"

I didn't hear that. I stared intently at my white Bishop. It needed to be moved. It needed space; it needed to be free. So I moved it, far away. I tilted my chin up a slight amount, to see if her hands were once again dragging across the board. They were not.

"I bet you miss her alot."

She was no longer playing. I wanted to cry.

"Your move."

Without thought, she willed a Pawn to crawl forward.

Only one space. Without thought.

It just happened so fast.

"Do you want to kiss her right now?"

I scratched the back of my neck and smiled out of pain. I rested my aching fingertips gently on top of my King, standing so firmly protected in the folds of white-and-black squares. I looked to my Queen, positioned so delicately within enemy lines. My Pawns, arranged expertly, formed an unbreakable fortress of wooden pieces that belonged solely to me. The Rooks sat untouched, unneeded, and The Bishop stood alone, having escaped from the confines of my own construction. And then, yes, I even glanced at my Knight, so lovable and unloved.

Then I breathed.

"Yes, Meghan. I want to kiss her."

And flipped my King, who, for the first time, felt the floor.

THEY DID STOLED

(MY) power comes from kisses on the cheek—

from the one that (I) felt as a young boy, in the top bunk,

to the many (II) receive lying in weakness, so gently on the floor

this power (III) feel, is not made to dominate

or to control all who (IIII) wish would see as (IIIII) do;

rather, it is used to empower. to be borrowed and stoled to all

seen, passing (ME) on the slushy city streets,

(THEY) can have (MY) power!

For one day, (THEY) will give it back!,

with a firm handshake, (MY) eyes searching theirs, muttering (MY) very own name,

(THEY) will give to (ME) the strength (IIIIII) feel in knowing who (IIIIIII) am,

and all that (IIIIIIII) can be.

in my own tent

If I ever need to stop dreaming, I would not do so.
I would instead stare through the skylight of my tent.

And if a breeze of courage once did came, it went.
For I never so moved an inch, but only curled.

Curled instinctively into my smaller world.
Where I could feel no one as I studied the stars.

What is it, I asked them, that laminates our scars?
Is it the fear of permanence?—

Or the tiring act of emotional balance?
I do not need your starlight, I only wish to go.

And if I could only stop dreaming, then I would do so.

summer, scopes n windmills

Whatever's makin you think that the sun'll greet me, I dunno, I only Know what's in front of me, and tonight that isn't you, and it hasn't been for (checks the worn fingernail countdown on the side of the wall) nine days or months, it's gettin kinda hard to tell y'know, but I close my eyes and breathe slowly through my one nostril and think of the people you've never told me about and all the ancient cities you've been lookin at through the kaleidoscope you bought at the airport.

So I stir back n forth in my leather rolling chair, wondering how short the summer would look if I were on top of a windmill mountain, looking down towards hundreds of asymmetrical windmills, peppering the peaks, the stripped-down mountains of North Country, so ugly and efficient and real— if I were to look past them, as I've looked past all the blinding moments of jealousy and sorrow that've plagued my life's departures, I would see the cold, dark ocean, the blanket to keep me warm since you've still got one eye jammed into that kaleibelscope thingy; on a cold night like the one you flew away, it wasn't about who was right anymore, but about who would be left.

An' so I was left, left to take a nother breath while staring at my favorite wall, occasionally glancing at the empty Coke bottle you had left me to lick at, while with an open mouth I sit unchanging, furious hands scribbling across the battlefield you've left in your wake, mental picktures prying into the night I thought was only mine, but naw — it's shared — between the breathing body searing the leather and the ghost lying across the bed, while the rain pours outside so softly, so springlike, so sweet— an' so with your scope in my hand, I roll around writin down all the words I used to Know,

an' when the wind takes ya here, together we'll greet the sun, and turn all those words into music.

trees, regrow!

Some of the trees

were broken

from the lightning.

And other trees

were growing

just up the river.

We saw so many trees,

floating down the river,

and one of them

looked like a girl

who I hadn't seen

for too long.

What a beautiful view.

I was glad there was even a view to see,

as I stepped from the river,

onto the rocks.

just like mine

You ask me to turn off the light

so that the moon can shine

over these scars that you're willing to show me

My heartbeat echoes in my empty stomach.

Snow delicately falls in January

Out on the street where it rains at night

it rains at night

The snow

I wish it would cover the moon,

The snow,

A sliver of the moon is revealed

The silver moon slips underneath the drifting snow

That sliver

is all that's left in the sky

If you look closely enough, you can see me, too

Covered by the snow at night,

Letting your waves wash over me

Saltwater drips from your lips

and my stomach won't make it,

My throat is dry,

and I'm purring

in my dreams

I'm a monster

I'm somewhere in between

friday and saturday.

saturday and sick.

sick and happy.

happy and alive.

alive and the moon.

I'm never here

I'm always standing on the beach,

I'm always going into the forest,

My fingers aren't really writing,

They're intertwined between yours.

I'll dig myself out from this hole of words

using nothing but lips

and tongue,

because now dirt is pouring out of my mouth

and soon comes the ashes

I'm waiting beneath the earth

the crust wasn't hard to burrow in

I can cut yours, if you'd like

My room smells good

but my bed smells better

I've switched pillows and it's getting harder to close my eyes

because we're never here

My heartbeat echoes

as your finger slides across my empty stomach.

I've learned some things since I've last been down this gulch

My lungs are full of air and saliva escapes from the corner of my mouth

I learn quick because I know this feeling and I know you

and somehow I learned to stand

Velvet heartbeats fill the silence,

and I miss your hand on my heart,

but it doesn't matter

that your

lips

&

tears

&

thighs

&

neck

are making me miss

you

because I don't have to dream

The thought of you lives inside me

and we're always here.

Sometimes when I smile,

I cry,

because I no longer have to.

2/10/2009

he was sent to the nurses office to sleep but was left dreaming instead

I'm not getting enough sleep
I had to go home today
I don't wanna go to sleep
I know what I will dream of
I know why I will wake up
Sweat beads from my forehead to pillow
I know i am alone & I know I am awake
& I feel wind in my dreams & I feel sun in my dreams
& I feel love in my dreams
I get glorious moments like these
& then god takes them away
(mumble and cry)
Staying awake doesn't help
I am powerless
Sleeping does not help
I am powerless
I cannot touch my soul or bed
I can reach within my heart &
Pull out the knowledge I keep secure within
This saves me
My dreams dont haunt me
they harm me
I don't dream anymore
I don't remember which is worse
When I'm awake I contemplate
and when I'm asleep I don't live
I don't want to die
I want to stay awake
you're fine kaleb you're fine
you're okay now

don't die.

-3/16/2007

last pages

you:

take my breath, take it all away,

have given me more than I know how to repay,

have made me luckier than all who know you,

will never meet someone who has loved you more than I do,

make me lose myself in your rainbow eyes,

are the only one to light my path in the skies,

have had me gripping at the cables you've dangled,

electrocuted me, leaving my body scorched, so mangled,

pushed me into the infinite summer rain,

will never cause anyone else so much pain,

and I will always be walking along the stony pass,

will always be part of a higher class,

have ran your cold fingers through my frozen hair,

can be found floating in the melancholy air,

will always be my spring; always be my fall,

will always be my winter, if it's even there at all,

can still be summer, if you trust in our weather, since

and I are real, and this is never finished, because

and me are, somehow, forever.

a butterfly and a stone

I decided to fall asleep minutes before taking off.
With a butterfly gently resting on my shoulder,
I let my lids fall and drift away.

For a moment I could not see.
The lights were too bright, the snow too white,
the leaves too green.
An angel took my hand
and put her finger to my lips.

(she was so hott
and I was so coldd)

but she leaned in anyway
and whispered that before I could wake up,
she wanted to Play a game.
I thought she was going to kiss me on the cheek,
but then she took my eyes.
And then everything went dark.
And then everything fell down.

Nothing was too bright, the world wasn't too green.
I stumbled around, feeling my way through the redwood,
imagining all these trees I wouldn't see
grow, or stand, or burn, or revive.
I had to see the seeds growing inside of the bark—
so she turned on the light.

There was everything—
including stillness. It was stillness.
I had to keep one eye open at all times
just to make sure the angel was still there.
I had no choice but to watch her trembling lips
and make desperate gestures with my useless hands.
When she finally saw the soundless tears all over my pillow,
she pressed Play
and her voice brought me home.

She climbed over me and dug her nails into my sides,
knowing I couldn't feel a thing.
I was numb.
Her hair felt like mine,
which felt like yours,
which felt like my butterfly,
which felt like your stone.
But she wanted to Play,
so I felt again, and my heart just ached.

She promised me heaven, this angel,
and lifted the world off of my shoulders.
Before I rose again,
she took my lips, and gave them a kiss.
I never had a choice
because she could see through me.

A butterfly woke me up just then,

and I could see

and I could hear

and I could feel

but if I had to choose again,

I would rather be dumb.

lullaby to a (brilliant/lucky/talented/gorgeous) girl

Lie down with me, dream of peace,

I'm too scared tonight of change, or surprise,

so sleep tonight. Dream of peace.

We're too close now, so lie down with me

and hope this year brings calm.

If God is here,

we must be in his palm.

first impressions

| The nerd entered my life with his conscience in a case & he read aloud his coded suicide note & I killed him with my tongue & I’d do it again & I wasn’t the only one & I’m not the only one | the redhead chokes on her smelly fingers & bites her teeth & wonders about the meaning of nature & sex & forgets about life while she smiles at her cardboard box & tries to eat it | Aristotle enters with no money in his pocket & boasts of his misfortune & runs away criticizing the revolutionaries with three crazy sentences | the birds on the wire try to reach the other side & fall out of the sky unexpectedly & their wings have been plucked off & smoke is all that’s left in the air & the smoky clouds read “goodbye” | a touch of peter is in the air & only I can feel it & only I know of the true hike & I walked and I crawled through the portage & almost fell into the warm little pond & something happened to peter that day & something might’ve happened to me | all these phones keep ringing & the ringtone is drilling into the fireman’s head & the fire burns up everything the architect worked for & so they went out for a beer & they would’ve cried but they’re men now | out of the granite & rubble a soldier appears & screams out in terror & the war ain’t over yet & I support him but I don’t know how & I wish we could all be friends & maybe I didn’t introduce myself right to all these people I never actually knew.|

Baby American Boy

How do you live in a world
that stands for nothing
and where nothing ever stands?
Where a thousand mouths open to sing
and taste salt water instead?
Fresh earth is being ripped up,
soon to be replaced by concrete
to make everything seem so new
while the sky is losing blue.
And out of the gravel
and cigarette ash,
a Baby American Boy was born.

How do you grow in a world
where the ceiling’s the sky’s the limit?
In nine houses, washed aside,
a picture lies on the ground,
crumpled since I can remember.
Father comes from nowhere;
not even he knows himself.
His mother could be Athena,
or his father, in a damp cell.
Mother comes from somewhere,
but she never seemed like the type
to look backwards over her shoulder
or think about it more than twice.
And when dinner is served,
if ever it is served,
who will be the first to finish,
and then slam a door?
The living room is magazine clean,
and on the black leather couch,
eating a bowl full of Life,
sits the Baby American Boy.

How do you see in a world
where the smoke travels thick in the skyway?
The faceless, jailguard bus smoke,
frenzied between Twin Cities,
carries over to the coast:
To the City of City Lights;
To the City of Peril Bridges;
To the City of the Unshakable Needle.
To the house on the hollow mountain,
down the winding Dark Hollow Road.
To the house with a skull in the window,
fuzzy, drooping lamps, inside all aglow.
Daddy take me home,
the Baby American Boy once cried.

How do you love in a world
where everything’s written in chalk?
If love really is a temple, then
our faces flow from the foundations.
And if writing really is love’s prayer,
this bible is still being written;
this revolution is still an embryo,
until all Our words are One.
You know the story,
the one with the pastors and the monks,
who all make you pray with their handcuffs.
One day, your hands might be free
from this Baby American Boy.

How can we go on pretending
to know the answers to questions
that were nothing but dust to begin with?
Just year after year blown off of the shelf—
Our world, a bird in a too-small shell.
Where we get lost in our bedrooms,
when we’re really just losing ourselves.
Where we all collapse for our keep,
and stumble on, too proud for our sleep.
Too dumb to sing a coda,
too numb to take a stand,
but no one, no one can crawl as fast
as the Baby American Boy can.

2009 (all that can't break)

(january)
The best year so far of my newfound life
began with secret kisses, behind the vending machine,
in the veil of the snow, in the light of the sun.
I only wish I would have known we’d grow so close,
but we fell into this teenage trap,
and I would never take it back.

(february)
Happy 17th birthday, my sweet love.
I gazed into your diamond necklace
as I picked up my clothes from the floor.
I was so young, I was at zero, and we went to sixty,
How was I supposed to know
that your skin would melt all the snow?

(march)
I would have broken all my English, if it would have made you stay.
This was worth standing still for, worth running to,
worth fighting for, worth crying for.
You healed me, gave me reasons never to forget,
and I could feel my heart getting better;
I knew that Ours would be Forever.

(april)
Did you know that I felt fear? No one had ever been this close,
and every so often I failed to feel what I had felt when I was far.
My father knew me when I was four, and now I’m swinging out on his porch,
thinking about all that I owe to you and all I would never let go of,
but the summer was falling from above.

(may)
The fresh cut flowers filled my lungs; to stay alive, I kept
looking straight, looking at only today,
because the day would soon come when you would leave,
and so we held ourselves closer, and watched all the birds

make nests in the sky we were headed towards.

(june)
We dressed up in joy, we looked our best,
The thoughts of the next night never took over,
The night I whispered our song while tasting your tears,
And when I left, I dared to look back
To see the girl I would miss every day,
Flying away.

(july)
The summer was starving, so I fed it words.
Letters, remembering, celebrating, wishing, loathing,
Loving, more and more every day you
Baked under the Spanish Sun and
Curled under the London Rain.
But I looked to the day you would come back to me,
And tackle me into the fresh summer grass, so tenderly.

(august)
You were perfect that day,
You were perfect that day
When your skin burned, and smiles flooded the attic.
Then you reset the password and gave this love cancer,
Plaguing this blessing, throwing me into the dark—
left to wander in the cruel, summer night,
And all I could do was crawl towards the light.

(september)
The light nearly blinded me, though,
as I began boarding that familiar bus—
surrounded by people who knew, who judged,
who saw my evolution and destruction.
The plague found you, and I couldn't help
but give ya shelter from the storm, and sang
that despite your uncontrollable crime,
I would hold you for the longest time.

(october)
The song had come too soon.
We were out of time, out of control,
I was out of oxygen, turning blue
while you sat and exhaled.
And though I could not remove myself from
the middle of the street, I was helped to my feet,
and I walked away, muttering
I'd never again sing that song,
while hoping I was wrong.

(november)
I heard a voice like a blanket
that stopped the shivering of my heart,
and it filled all the space between sunset and sunrise.
I thought everything could be the same,

I thought she would be close,
but no one will ever be the same— I was blind,
following the memories of the past,
which I were truly thankful for, at last.

(december)
The ashes of the letters are falling,
reminding me of how far I've come,
how much I've learned and stood up to.
But there's a time for learning,
and a time to dream, and so I dreamt,
and knew exactly where to go,
because I am always exactly where I'm supposed to be.
The heart only breaks once, for god's sake,
and for that reason alone, we will never truly break.