In the Flowers

My notebook           F
                         A
                            L
                               L
                                  S

               O p e n to your page,

That photo of you

sitting on your dad’s lap in The Flowers of California.

That photo of you

just after you swam.

That photo of you

in that ugly flower print dress,
                     it F
                           A
                              L
                                 L
                                    S to your

feet,

kisses your ankles,
 and

                                                d  r    a        g                s

along

the

ground;

the back is dirty and F r a y e d.

I have never seen anyone look so B e a u t I f u l.

I’ll F
       A
          L
            L to your feet,
I’ll  K  I  S  S  your ankles,
I’ll F
        U
            C
               K you in The Flowers of California.

You don’t have to
 love me,
Just let me
                 d  r    a        g
behind
               
                     you.

How she spells her name

I fell asleep with my chest pocket full of nails
and when I woke up

                                         My heart was boarded up

Because I am still sober, and she is still in Southern California

I

            h
           a
                v
                                e

                                  n
                    o
                             t
                                         h
                                                 i
                                                    n
g

                                                                                                       o
                                                                                                          f

                                                                                                  v
                                                                                a
                                                             l
                                                                                                                                   u
                                                                                                                                        e

                                                                                    t
o

                      s
                                                a
y

The Boy Up North

I’ll drink myself to death

                And write myself to sleep.

I’ll dance my wooden fingers across my face

till my eyes shut and the world becomes green

and beautiful.

I’ll try to remember the days at the creek where your limbs

wrapped around me

           and my bird sang  and your
                                                                                          r
                                                                                       i

                                                                                               v
                                                                                                    e
                                                                                                          r
                                                                                                             f
                                                                                                            l
                                                                                                        o
                                                                                                   w
                                                                                                  e
                                                                                                 d                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

The day when the knock was at MY door and the bottle was in YOUR hand and you asked me to walk up mountains for you.

The day when my lips touched yours and you backed away and placed

your nails on

my chest

and the room grew silent and the walls reminded me of who your heart belonged to

I’ll never forget the voices of the chipping paint,

the breath of dirty clothes and

the reason of warm carpet

And the face of that boy who walks on

           FIRE
That boy who’s heart has               S
                                            U
                                                N
                                                    K into his stomach

So I’ll              S
                I
                 N
                  K

                                SHIPS with hops

And I’ll                     

   D
   R
   O
   P

A
     N
        C
            H
               O
                    R’s

made of stain-less steel into my arms

I’ll lie at the bottom of lakes

Till you pull me out, and wring out my clothes.

                Tell me it’s not my fault

                                Walk with me once again

                                         Let me feel

                                                Your hand

                                                In mine.

We will take off our clothes and swim in the lake from which I just drowned

We will lay in the grass and walk through the fields with the sun

burning our
               
shoulders

          and                         P   our legs
                    cancer crawling     U

                               
                 

                                We will lie beneath trees reading novels

                And singing songs of our chests

As we match the tree in my heart

                                To the staircase in yours.

We will speak in tongues and breathe grass and remember that we are not a love story

           We will remember that we are not forever

                 And our children will not remember us when we die

                                 And nobody will be at our funeral

                                                 And we will leave nothing behind

                                 We will remember that we are finite

                 We will remember the taste of fruit

           We will remember the taste of each other

We will leave everything behind

                And our children will sing the song of our love

                                                The song of the doomed

                                                                The song of the damned.

                                The song that was never

                                                SUNG

Into the Thicket

You spoke close enough for me to taste your words  

and your skin and my hands

and inaudible statements

and unheard questions and ramblings and

 non-linear sentences, with changed-subjects to

un-read novels and      cold winters and         vacant classrooms.

We tasted the dirt,

and your shoulders got burned by the moon.        We spoke with tongues  in the grass

and birds on our fingers.

You twisted like a rag doll and you kept the bottle.

            There was peace in the big        emptiness      of           us.

            There was this beautiful                      space               when
                                       
                                         your breasts
               pushed against 

                                                                                                                 my chest.

And, when your hair fell against my face

I swear I saw stars

fading.

When I finally had the courage, and you backed                   away, and we felt the warped

wood of houses and

smelt the chipping paint of tree-houses,

We saw buildings and ware-houses as                        empty              as our hands when we

touched                       each                             other.


We watched movies we hated like Burried and movies we loved like Submarine      

and drank Slurpees

and danced barefoot in parking lots,

we hiked and tattooed our names into a maple tree,

we drank hot chocolate and chai tea latte's,

                                        you laid on top of me and I breathed you in,

we played with remote control helicopters

and we took pictures of           everything,

we laid on frozen lakes and walked with each other,

we laid by creeks and you let me hold you while you cried,

we listened to music and snuck into abandoned buildings.

                                 I woke at 1 PM after a fourteen hour sleep,

I ate an orange and chocolate milk, put the dogs in the car and headed

up the canyon.

I hiked around for hours, and couldn't stop hearing your voice,

The colours began to dull, and I couldn't help but answer.

What are you looking for Gene?

-Our tree

Oh Gene, it won't bring me back.

-I know, but, It doesn't have to.

Do you remember this spot?

-Of course I do. You found that slice of tree trunk, and I threw it. You were so mad at me.

Do you know where you are?

-No

How are you going to find your way out?

-I'll figure it out.

Finding that tree isn't that important.
                  -But it is

Why?

-I need to know it was real, I need to know that what I felt that day was real, that what I feel right now is real.

Gene, did you ever love me?

-I think I still do.

I tried to keep my breath as

even as even as

possible as my

boots touched the

asphalt and my

dogs climbed into the car.

and I looked back at

                        hundreds of thousands of

Maples

                        knowing that                           ONE

of them

                        had our names

                                                tattooed on it’s

T R U N K