Take your Time.

Little moments stolen from you.
3:15 P.M. Saturday afternoon
sipping cola out of the can
7:30 A.M. Tuesday
first slivers of sun
slipping through the blinds
falling on your eyelids
the candy bar in your coat pocket
flower in your hair somehow gone by the end of the day.
Little coins collected from the bottom of your purse.
5:36 P.M. Sunday, feet dangling from the ledge of the pool,
splashing your little brother.
2:55 P.M. Thursday playing hooky
sipping on a Marilyn Monroe, bare knees touching thinking,
“there could be nothing better than this,
please don’t let me forget”
and he tucks your hair behind you ear, whispers something into it.
These deceiving
memories fill the gaps in your mind, then dissipate
into the vast atmosphere and you laugh through
all of it, occupied because there is life left to live,
surprises around the corner. If only I could
see past this day, get through the year,
I wonder where I will be a decade
from now.
these little
moments here and there
leaving a huge gaping
hole and you turn
around wondering
where it all



We credit in the form of glances,
fleeting, brief, a penny for your thoughts,
the abundance of an endless gaze,
corners crinkled in amusement
or glimmering on the verge of overflow.
I feel wealthy on my humble salary of private glimpses
across the room,
safe in the bottomless evergreen shelter of your eyes.
They are wide and generous because you are a giver,
and even if it were possible to transfer the warmth of
all of your sweet caresses into a glance,
I could still never begin to repay my debt.

Saturday Night Anthem

We are the new millenium.
We are a generation
born from a constantly evolving
legacy of the art of living
with no consequences.
We not only smile in the face of adversity,
not only laugh in the face of danger.
We pledge allegiance to our first shot
of Captain Morgan,
Grey Goose
our first hit
first pill
first slam
to the ringing anthem of “fuck it”,
because only then did we first start living.
We are the human experience,
wild and uncontrollable and hungry
in all of our glory.
We do not remember our past,
we do not consider our future.
Some of us die triumphantly to the reverberating synths
and pounding bass of the battlefield.
Most of our fates lie in the humble death
of routine, responsibility,
marriage, jobs, children,
but not before we introduce the freshman
to his first, his sweetest taste of victory.

On Music.

Put on that irresistible bass
that overpowers the beat of my heart
the nature of my being until
i completely lose myself,
nothing but lights in a room of strangers,
fuck the bills needing to be paid
the anorexic daughter
the mentally abusive chemistry assignment because
I am not the dwindling number of my bank account
or the months I have left to live,
or the emptiness of the apartment
I am forced come home to every night.
I am stronger than my controlling father,
I am the constant rhythm that propels me forward
just a little bit further each day until
I am strong enough to kiss the gold medal for my country.
Let me disappear in the cascading cadences of
Chopin who writes of the goddess that is the night
or sink deeper and deeper
until I am completely submerged in a dark ocean
of voices whose elusive whispers
pull me still deeper and i
start to disintegrate and there is no barrier
between my skin and the water.
Put on my childhood memories,
a woman singing about heartbreak but all I can hear
is my little brother laughing at
Daddy making faces,
the day we were all singing along in the car
on the way to the grocery store.
Put on anything at all so I can pretend
I am not alone, so this room doesn’t have to be
so silent
and I can forget that there is not another plate of spaghetti
on the other end of my little table,
and when I curl up on my cold mattress,
I can imagine the gentle palm of God
cradling me to sleep.

Prayer of Isla Vista.

Our Father who art in Heaven,
hallowed be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done
on earth as it is in Heaven
as it is on a Sunday morning on a broken mattress,
in the warmth of sunlight spilling through the shutters
making lines on naked limbs struggling
to find worth, even beauty in this terrifying world.
Give us this day our daily bread,
my daily fix,
my chemical induced “Heaven”
that comes so quickly
and goes just as quickly
taking a little bit of myself with it every time.
And forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us
and lead us not into temptation
but deliver is from evil
tomorrow, Lord,
just not on this beautiful night
full of young promise
spilling onto the glittering street,
the intoxicating scent of these nocturnal magnolias
the dizzying lights
symphony of human desperation,
because we are all just as broken on this night,
we have all sinned and are falling
so gracefully,
such poor, majestic fallen creatures.
let me remember this,
if not in the morning,
then when I enter the gates of Your kingdom,
for Thine is the kingdom
and the power and the glory
and the blurry nights that have nothing to show
but bruises on my kneecaps,
my bloody elbows
and vomit crusted cheeks,
that smug little smile on my face,
for ever and ever,