Empty Grows Every Bed

Even the way he walked / flaunted notes of fancy music

If you write me a letter / describe your favorite bird

I like the smell of gasoline and coffee, / things that get me / from one place to another

There is something wrong with the clouds, / and now my day is ruined

Why is it though / passion wields itself like a gun

Forget that // tame is another word / for broken

Some nights you are on your knees.  / Other nights I am. Teach me, I beg

a hummingbird // with strangle marks / most call // ruby-throated

and although she bled, she thanks him for it

as if you had always been gone / as if I had always been afraid

What little I know of love / begins and ends // with limbs in a panic, / a hiss in the darkness

There never was a happy face

when we meet / I will fuck you / so moderately you will not want to call. / But you will

Fight teeth with teeth, / no one ever said

I’ve been known to throw eggs off my balcony. / Sometimes absurdity is the best antidote / for the world’s poison

I been told I’m the best kisser / by both genders

Do you like bonfires? / Do you say fireflies or lightning bugs? / Your answers will matter; I’m that type of person

  • “Boil” Gulf Stream

I know things

I just want to tell her // about desire / and black holes, how each sucks / everything in

Longing is a universal language

But still I keep painting / as if stains hold me together

what we thought / was tame would unavoidably turn // brutal and against us

the old man basks like a fish / beheaded, gills opening & closing / as if still swimming

Whatever sadness drives men / to pay for sex // I don’t possess

It is the tragic function of life to work // only in excess: one suffers from too little, / the other too much

all hands / are equally harmless / when you bald // the palm of fingers