Words

I dreamt, last night

that I poured you over rice, and asked

what your basic ingredients were

you said

   ”I am sweet to the tongue,

   soft on the teeth.

   I will stain the tips of your fingers

   and sting the back of your throat.

   I will wrap myself around your taste buds,

   and I will linger here 

   on your breath,

   between your teeth,

   in the corner of your mind,

   a tingle on your lips,

   I am deep red, light yellow

   find me, and I will fill you.”

I stirred you around for a little bit,

asked

I meant,

what are you made of?

you smiled,

and kissed me.

I thought I became when I said Bee come and Bee came and said he wouldn’t be coming around again because I hadn’t become anything worth Bee coming.

the yellow-jacket died right beside my bed.

his story is over.

all of my eggshells have been ground to dust,

why am i still afraid?

This poem isn’t about you, because

it’s not really a poem, and

it’s not really about

anything.

But, if it were

a poem

and if it were about you,

it would end

before it had time

to be-

and then you laugh

and I remember, all at once

that not single syllable

was real.

I have a little yellow-jacket that lives in my room.

I haven’t told my mom yet, or my siblings.

They don’t much like little yellow-jackets.

Most of the time, he sleeps behind the mirror

snoring little yellow-jacket snores, 

dreaming little yellow-jacket dreams.

Today he flew out into my lamp, sounding

like a horse fly with a pistol. But I didn’t mind,

He’s just lookin for a little yellow-sunshine,

and his little yellow bee.

It would so very nice if the world would stop shitting on my face today. thank you world.

I haven’t kissed a hip in a while.

I like bones and I like lips and 

sometimes I even find myself watching those

little purple circles

pictures, telling

I was here,

and here,

and here.

But you have little purple circles too,

and I’d rather watch your face

than count someone else’s moments.

because I have discovered that your face

is very pretty.

and I haven’t kissed a hip in a while.

I’m just going to close my eyes,

for two days.

Because,

If I can survive two days without seeing,

I can survive

the you’s

and the he’s

and the sheets

and the she’s

I chose not to see.

.

.

(maybe)

You seem to have encountered me on the edge of me. On the edges of lots of me’s, for that matter. I mean, I just started smoking pot again. I reactivated my facebook a week after we met. It was deleted for a year. I used to have hair down to my boobs. But you wouldn’t know. I mean you met me and I had short hair and I was stoned and I had a status update. And thus you grew to know me at the end of a lot of strings, I flipped a lot of switches you didn’t even know were switches, and those flips were me, to you, And I wonder now, if every meeting is that way. If every person finds every person at the beginning or end of something. It must be that way. With every stranger, I am new.

I don’t know if it’s sadder 

that I’m addicted to more

or that at the same time

I’m in love with less.

or perhaps

that i want less

but keep asking for more.

I will sleep and I will sleep and I will sleep.

you will not,

but I will.