Day 56: Love and Porn in Culver City

Cold, but when pressed against the wall

Or pulled apart

It warms only to a sting.

The loneliest sing, a monologue

Of short gasps of sequential shock.

Traffic pushed the sun over the CNN tower,

Food was left to go in the pockets of my cheeks,

Zooming through a ghost town with a bloodless brother

Silence without sirens, and chasing the doctor.

Day 54: Fixity

We were on your front lawn

Where red dust stuck on blue paint

That flew through an open window,

Once broken by the babbles of a brook.

This brick porch is a creek bed,

Was once the cat dander and mosquitoes

That found their place on my skin,

Now buried deep in time.

And if I didn't have the first title,

I would've burned out the whole spectrum

Because this is everything:

The golden flame, the silver ring

The bronze medal that three could bring.

Day 53: Counting the Joker

Here is one more ephemeral blow,

Raps upon a door locked from the inside.

It peels the glue from my skin;

I hope it helps me see my true side

Picked at, hiding under a scab.

My bones are a garland of pearls

Fragile as such, they are draped in

Sinews and teenage promises.

Here is one more arrowless bow

That struck at your hearts

For what you did not know.