between the two trapezes.

I Am.

i am
seven pm 
drama
lost in dull 
dialogues
of stupid 
mothers
and long-lost 
daughters
i am static on 
a foul 
radio show
with the 
longest
airtime and
rocketing
ratings
i
am bullets 
sounding
in a 
friday 
night
theme park
i am 
somebody
your mother
would warn 
about
i
am
somebody
you
wish
was
not.

My Heart Has Ears.

Our love is naked, our kiss
sacred, lost over the telephone
rings, over the stillness of the
in betweens, over the darkness of
the room shared by us and a 
violating coldness, our fingers
find solace on the crevices of
our hearts and there we hide
for the night where you find your
self sinking onto my collarbones,
buried head and firm grip, arms
fallen over my ribcage opening
slowly as your fragile one did too.
And you slithered a sigh at the back
of my neck leaving me damp and
cold with silence but what I heard
was a storming call for my heart has
ears and you deafened it.

Where You Touched.

Where you touched,
my bones grew rickety,
my flesh turned the color
of white or green, my blood
stopped to clot and rest
peacefully
blocking the whole system
from running, stopping my
breathing, lungs dying, heart
racing
because where you touched
was an electric of July storms
compacted into tiny contacts 
of skin and hair (and a little
sweat) and you just looked at
my eyes innocently looking
back the way your dog does
when you watch the evening
news with him.

Earlier,

• me: hey do you have After Dark?
• bookstore attendant: haruki's?
• me: lemme marry you.

I Still Have The Creases.

I still have the creases 
on my shirt from your
head resting against
my chest and I know
you knew how my heart
strived to breathe be-
cause you heard my
ribs nearly cracking
just so the musclefist
wouldn’t burst. And
strands of your hair
rooted against my
muscles reeking heavily
from the aloe vera you
have always used,
I began gardening
my skin with aloe vera
so your hair could
clench into me a bit
longer. And your eye-
lids close at every
pause in my mind
praying for your
fingers to travel to
mine. I still have the
creases you have
left on my heart,
I still have the
numbness blue
on my arms.
.

Ice Cream Parlor.

High waist, shoulder length,
she wasn’t the type to
mope between busy streets,
scowl at an ice cream parlor
where he used to sit by, white
shirt with a flood of black over
a cherubic stare. today was 
an Asian with a blonde instead
and sometimes in a bowler,
sometimes staring back and
sometimes aggressively.
she stood right at the center
of the whole demography,
marking her spot day by day
and when night comes she
drags her reluctant feet
though her hopeless
whispers were always
more effective.

Bottles And Bonfire And Seawaves.

The night was
all about Sid Vicious
and yellow flowers in Nagasaki,
headlights sped
like feeted traffic lights
under the influence of vodka
and lipsticked kisses,
shirts off and shut sky 
All them wearing chucks
got the seaside to themselves,
the highway music muffled by
the sounds of bottles
and bonfire and seawaves
joining the misfits with the
gray long socks and
upset parents scowling
over their new tattoo.
In between stars there
was pitch darkness and
their howls placed neatly
on it.