where they tore down the house

at the Southeastern corner of the station

where red steel blends into the tracks

or washed out graffiti creations,

turn left and avoid the road block,

turn right onto the fresh tar,

navigate around the sidewalk,

ride on and mind the parked cars

stop beside the grey block.

 

Here, before and after town,

a place no one ever missed,

they have recently torn down

the house where we first kissed,

in a room with no doors,

after everyone had left us,

all alone on wooden floors.

It must have caused a lot of dust.

ventilator effects

there is pressure on my diaphragm

like right before a free fall,

before I cry, throw up,

or laugh hysterically.

my head hums to flickering eye lids

as there’s a sparkly liquid

running down my spine and stomach wall.

it is coming from my head, I think.

 

these sure are just the side effects

of your new ventilator.

It must have been,

the rhythmed blasts of air

towards our locked hands,

heavy breathing,

and our beating hearts,

that cause me so much pain today.

acetaminophen

I push until I pierce three times

through thin aluminum.

with tepid water from the tap

running down my throat,

I don’t know what loss I mourn.

 

curled up like an embryo,

I used to suck you up as well,

you’d mute the symptoms for a while

until I got too used to you.

until I’d have to up the dose.

 

instead your impact lingered;

and like acetaminophen, it left

a burning stomach wall,

the ache of missing him,

and craving for you still.

halos in keen unending

I hold my tea cup

a thin thread of patience left

I’m sick of waiting

 

between time and space

there is an alternative

it is you and me

 

a couple of shoes

align and wait to be worn

I am barefooted

 

the grass I walk on

is morning-cold and wet still

I need to warm up

formication

a chain of people holding hands in Lebanon

–dozens of kilometers, I heard–

the book vendor’s voice as she elaborates on some Norwegian novel

–I never read it in the end–

his pink shirt smelling of a wooden wardrobe and Chanel

–it used to intensify toward his wrist–

people singing well on casting shows

–although I really do not care–

Snow Patrol on gravel-grounded morning walks

–sound and pulse and volume–

breathing in snow-pregnant winter air

–I could taste it when I was a kid–

the morning we began this list, high on caffeine and in love

–unlike you, the formication did return–

jeopardy

you are jeopardy,

I am your candidate.

I seek the questions

to your answers

which may well be just a lie.

boredom

lack of interest

weary, restless

perforation,

drill, a hole made

making tired

digging away

loose material –

the one I built

my life upon.

Shakespeare’s vanishing anagram

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

All damp, I tease you. Shame’s tremor

hums ahead. I act a role, so play me

as you create hell’s metaphor.

I am a sad muse, teach me hope.

Come, I’m all yours, Master

My spasms harm as I rot.

Still, you are there

to hear my praise.

I compare thee

to a red rose,

I presume.

Please,

dare

me.

New Look

after the treatment, some of it broke off.

for a while, my anger had been feeding

on my craving for attention.

the only thing left to do was to bleach my hair.

I had handed my body over twice the night before.

the first smelled bad and wanted instructions.

the second said smart things, then wet my bed.

he jumped up at dawn.

I made scrambled eggs for him later that day.

the sun had risen under thickened clouds.

I left with his sheets.

my mattress was still soaked.

I went to the mall and there it was.

dignity converted into peroxide.

in a box that said: New Look.

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