The Poetry Marathon

the morning is tequila-sunrise orange

but the dusk takes on the day

straight no chaser spins

light liquid gold into starlight into

poems the dusk 



is a writer like me I 

take my mental illness

dry 



maybe a little bit of my childhood

for color 



I always say I love you too quickly shock

the starlight into repression drown

in liquor in depression in

purgatory until

the haze recedes 



and sobriety filters in slowly like

light through blinds that weren’t 

shut until four in the morning 

let’s play a game.  what came

first, the chicken

or the egg?  what came first,

punk or the elitist assholes

who listen to only punk?  

listen:  punk is dead and punk

was the end of garage band rock and

punk turned poetry to fashion

trend and punk is what they

call any kid who steps

out of line and punk

redrew the lines between

music and noise and

punk

is

dead

dead like our

ancestors dead like

the animal that laid the egg the

chicken was in and punk

died when it became a clique

that was exclusive to join and

punk

didn’t

die

it evolved to avoid

assholes like you

my heart is tempered glass which is to say

it is here to protect the rest of me which

is to say that it may shatter without any

apparent reason

heat damage you

got too close the casual

hug goodbye I love you

I love you I let my

guard down

accidental breakage your

joke wasn’t funny got me a little

chipped at the edges and

the cracks spread across

my entire body

internal defects I was like

this when you found me

but don’t worry when I break

I don’t hurt anyone

but myself

earth wind fire rain

separate but equal can you

feel the pain the oceans

rise like a woman’s body

when the moon calls

rain earth wind fire

every person you have ever

touched you have never touched you

are always an atom apart

but there are many things that strive

to be only an atom apart

fire earth rain wind

reminds us we can begin

again buries summer deep

within

rain wind fire earth  

births us from the night

a tiny spark in the distance the outline

of wave and flame look the same

from a distance

I keep falling for people who are wound

so tightly they are a marionette

to their own repressed emotion, and

if I spend long enough uncoiling

their laugh lines they come completely  

undone, shoulders slumped forward, eyes

bright with tears they didn’t think were

left.

some people just don’t

talk about things

but I am a sparkler broken
in half and lit
from both ends,
coming apart but still
glowing. I am open flame I

will burn that paper mache smile

right off your face my honesty

is catching

don’t come to me with

stone facade.  this spark will never

be contained I

will be ember heat you from

the inside spread like an answer glow

like a beacon like a hearthfire

whenever you need

a place to call

home.  

my

       mouth

       is a paint    s

                           p  l    a

                                    t     t e r

  fallen in the wrong place and you are trying to

wipe. it.  off.  before I ruin the

                                             clean slate of your sympathy

these    kids    these    days                                                             but I’m

don’t have any manners don’t say                                                     always screaming           

                                                        THANK YOU

          I’M SORRY

          I LOVE YOU                  in poems smeared abstract

 and silent by your

                                                                              apathy

the lights in the classroom go low. I am sure
the sound is on, but my thoughts
are warm and heavy like humid summer
evenings and he is sitting
next to me, tiny bursts of heat
lightning flickering across
the projector screen in front
of us. his hand edges toward
mine, breathe in breathe out

people say that what we call
heat lightning isn’t real. it’s just
a far-off storm but he turns and
asks me did you see that? did
the lights just flicker? and my heart
booms like a thunderclap I so
desperately wish we could hear

he leans toward me as if
he is going to say something but
doesn’t, just lingers there like
a stormcloud on a sunny day, like
lightning that keeps you waiting

because there is an uncrossable
distance between us. he is twenty-five
and I am sixteen so we just sit there, watching
the lightning leap from cloud to cloud, wondering
if there is a place for us somewhere
in the distance.

your gaze is my favorite
accessory. at first I wore it like
trying on lipstick for the first
time, rough around the edges, some
colors too mature for the moment, but
I grew into it, wore it like a favorite
necklace, an engagement ring. on the days when

the mirror gives me nothing but ugly, I
look into my own eyes until I see
you staring back, smiling so hard your
dimples have dimples. loving you
means loving myself enough to
look both ways before I drive
across the train tracks, and eat
dinner even on the nights I think
I’m fat. I am not saying that you

are my other half. I am saying
that you knew where to
find it.

maybe moths know
the candle will kill them
but they’re just so tired
of searching
for the sun. maybe I knew
that girl would never love me
back but her hands
were still her hands and her
eyes still looked like stars

and when she said she wanted
to die, I wanted to go
with her.

My country tis of thee,

you birds of a feather that flock together

leaving our poor in need.  

The sin becomes sacred: in God’s name we bleed,

but we need religion to make us better

as our leaders are born baptized in greed.

Divide us up by color and creed!

Crime makes a profit, so turn up the pressure

leaving our poor forever in need.  

If war is good for our economy

then why are veterans homeless in winter

as our leaders are born baptized in greed?

Don’t dare say the word “democracy”

when our voting system is bent to your pleasure

leaving our poor forever in need.  

Arrest the protesters storming your street

so you can pretend our problems are lesser

and our leaders can stay baptized in greed.

It never stops– the inequality breeds

as you birds of a feather flock together,

and our leaders are born baptized in greed,

leaving our poor forever in need.