My Island

The sofa bed is an island

At night,

When the multi-coloured pillow patterns

Line up accurately.

The sofa bed is my island

Before dawn,

Before you’re lighting up

The day on me.

Outside my sofa bed, the island,

Your breathing is the sea,

Of which the waves,

Last night,

Withdrew from me.


Safety Instructions

In case of an emergency,

Please call me back,

In case of an emergency,

Don’t push me off,

Jump and slide,

Give me a chance and

Brace positions.

Listen, what I have to say,

Check and open door

I need to talk about our

Safety instructions.

Don’t hang up

In case of an emergency,

I need you by my side

In case of an emergency,

Don’t go away, don’t

Jump and slide,

How can you dare to

Brace positions.

I’ll be waiting for you,

Check and open door,

Don’t forget our

Safety instructions.



Your hands, they tremble

Your hands, they fumble

Your hands, they sense

Your hands feel tense


My hands assist

My hands insist

My hands, they bustle

My hands, they rustle


Our hands, they seek

Our hands, they sneak

Our hands, they flit

Our hands don’t quit


At last!, I moan

Good God, you groan,

We sigh at ease

We found your keys.


I did not want to be the warm body you crave at 2 am

On the left side of your queen size bed.

I did not want to be the one to take pretty pictures

While you stare out of your third floor window glass.

I did not want to be the one you hug a little longer

Than you would hug anybody else.


I did not want to be the one you prepare breakfast for

On a sleep-deprived October morning.


I just wanted to be the one who shows up.

At the right time.

And then again.

Self Conscious

I sat there and shaded my head with my hair.

I sat there contracted and I sat there rejected.

I sat there and dried my hands on my tights.

I sat there pretending that I didn’t care.


I lay there digging my head in my arms.

I lay there unwanted, I lay with desire.

I lay there and swallowed my words with my pride.

I lay there and made you think I was asleep.


I stood there unsure what to do with my hands.

I stood there swaying from left to the right.

I stood there and feared that my back was not straight.

I stood there and all I could do was just wait.


Since I got old,

It’s not easy to find

The rocky wastelands of my mind.

A kid, I knew,

They’re right behind the sleep-locked door

To my mother’s laundry room, where

I had to open

The right-most window with

The washed-out blinds,

Climb over filthy clothes and

Once-loved teddy bears,

Out of the frame and

Into the foggy day of

The wasted rocklands of my mind.


Meanwhile on the 64th

In forests of half-grown trees wet moss relents and whimbrels ring.

Ashore smokey bays the sea breeze breaks through creaking daylight-swallowed nights

As humid bleakness fills with karaoke chants and clashing glass and Hot Dog smell.

Drizzly nights silence limegrass-rhythms in pitch-black sand and grow stronger as they

Knock on drunken wooden pubs bursting with biting whiskey sounds.

Cold stiff hands smell of scarlet wild thyme on the path to Hell’s backdoor before

Hot limp lulled bodies drift through fir green algaeous ponds and

Wait for cloud curtains to reveal green glaring paper-streams on midnight skies.

I’m wide awake on the 64th.


What if one day

I, too, do not remember

What your name was, so

I’d just point at you,

Sitting bowed and humble

At the other end of the table,

Hoping for the summer wind

Of my second daughter’s birthday

To dry my eyes’ upcoming rain?

Fingers Crossed

If you looked at me across a crowded room,

I’d always be the first

To turn my head.

In trying to differ from I’m most alike them.

In the morning, I dress prepared for every call

Of yours and then never pick up

My ever-silent phone.

I’m running through the fires that I lit

With my fingers crossed and heart of wood;

I’m just a product of whatever thing you say,

Hungry for the harvest

Of which the seeds I never sowed.

Don’t even try

Wipe the tears off my rosy cheeks

They’re made for you, they’re part of the show.

And please believe that I do want to see you


But only when I am prettier,

Prettier, than the face in the bathroom mirror,

Staring back at me with scornful eyes.

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