underwintering

 if the a soon fate yet be want bad heart
 about time is I'll do rhymes okay I art feels
 start How the that begging frozen know to reason away
 I ran to find My I'm to

overwintering

 

I know a bad time is about to start.

My heart feels frozen, yet I want to do art.

How to find the rhymes if the reason ran away...

I'm begging fate that soon I'll be okay.

To a dear friend

I'm happy that you're my friend

You fascinate and enthrall me

When you talk to me my flesh is bruise

And your words gentle hands squeezing me.

You talk of feeding me, I can see you care.

Why aren't you supporting my starvation 

Like every other friend of mine?

I'm happy that you're my friend

You don't want to be called "love",

You're just fucking with me,

But when I said "I love you" to my girlfriend

You almost said it back. 

You called me darling last night,

You showered me in praise.

You care and push me away in equal measure.

I'm so happy you're clear about being friends.

Ulysses

 

I never understood what people meant

When they spoke of feeling tempted

Before I talked to you

I never before thought about dashing

my sanity onto the rocks

Just so I could hear your voice

My fellow sailors know of you

But their ears are covered in wax

They can't hear us

My fellow sailors believe in freedom

Thus the mast is not what I worry about

I walk around the boat asking

No one listens, and I'm the no one,

If I was doing my captain duties

I would already crash into your rocks

I would drown in your blue-eyed sea

Oh but I know you don't sing for me

Siren, your voice is for someone else

I still yearn for your rock

Termite

 

You're mine

But not like a toothbrush

To be used by only me

You're mine

But not like a phone

Private and hidden and always there

You're mine

Like a home

And a bouquet of flowers 

in its living room 

I can only look

I can only feel your warmth

But more people can lay their eyes on you

More people can find shelter in your arms

A home is made by people

You've taken my cartilage

I can't breathe but you're building

A home in me. 

Because home is where the heart is

You've built yours in the empty space

between my lungs. 

An Angel

 

He makes everyone but me feel safe.

He's radiant, my gums bleed 

when I think about him when I brush my teeth

The sight of him terrifies me

He tells people not to be afraid

but I'm afraid for him

He gets into trouble but he won't fall

He's protected by the fleece and blood of his god

His diet of processed boring purity,

Bland pop culture and alcohol 

His toxic safety 

All like a hand of a god on his halo

Looking at him is like grabbing myself

through the past

He may not be saint Athanasius’s ideal

but at least he's alive and idealistic and loved

I used to love others and deny myself

His god told him to hate others as himself

and what can I do but try to return to that gospel

so I would know and hold his passions?

siedzieć i dłubać w nosie

piekło na ziemi

wiedzieć co trzeba 

i jak trzeba robić.

piekło pomocy innym

piekło drobnych gestów

piekło wystygniętego jedzenia

nie chcę już 

bezczynnie siedzieć

i dłubać w nosie

 

ale nie mogę się podnieść

z kolan, więc patrzę jak

mój mózg kapie mi nosem

Orange | Vinyl gloves

You can get pretty damn close to feeling loved

through a screen

through the gloves hiding your hands

burnt by little acts of service.

The touch through gloves

the hedonistic love of one person

A small taste of orange heaven

Painless

 

But isn't love, like oranges, 

meant to be split and shared?

If my skin needs to split for you

will you at least eat the fruits of that?

If the sour juice gets into my wound

will you taste it from there

kiss it to make it better?

Will you eat your half of the orange?

Grejpfrut

Do wszystkiego trzeba dojrzeć

Nikt nie wyciągnie do ciebie ręki pierwszy

Nikt nie spędzi popołudnia razem jeśli nie poprosisz

Słodycz miłosnego granatu

Ginie

Kwaśna gdy zapomnisz.

Młody grejpfrut 

zapomniany w kuchni przez miesiąc

Dojrzewa samotnie do słodyczy

Może by pozbyć się goryczy

trzeba nauczyć się być samemu ze sobą

bez Ciebie?

Może trzeba wyrzucić ten 

pleśniejący od dziewięciu miesięcy

granat?

Nawet popołudnie jest słodsze

gdy przeciąga się w wieczór

i smakuje dojrzalej.

Podarły mi się spodnie na dupie

Łatałom inne spodnie tydzień temu. 

Moje ciało jest zbyt boskie,

zbyt utworzone na kształt boża, które zjadłom. 

Tak więc powstają i dziury na dupie.

 

Założyłom inne spodnie. 

Czarne.

Babskie.

Eleganckie.

 

I znów głaszczę psa,

białego,

schylam się,

dziura mi mówi „bonjour”.

Zdjęłom spodnie

czerwone na licu,

biała dupa świecąca jak księżyc w pełni

założyłom inne spodnie.

I trzeba robić kolejną łatę.

Lata biegną.

Łata za łatą. 

Podarły mi się spodnie na dupie.