Your hunger resurges
like a storm cloud sick
of holding its breath.

Feelings stream forward
in wet stripes
after so much time behind
stacked distance,
the kind of gap that hardens
into some soft thing
too choppy to fly through. 

My skin wrings itself out
to dispose of the old,
old ache.

[8-27-11 12:45 am] 

Full of bliss and belonging
(no more longing);
swallowing lost time whole
and folding into the familiar
shape of us.

I catch my face
in your pupil
and want to trade places
with the image.

[9-9-11 5:09 am]

war withers a mother’s breast
and her daughter’s stomach
stays empty
while I slip pills into mine
to stave off appetite

[9-21-11 11:01 pm] 

Isaac Brock,
you can’t tell me what to do.
I reserve the right
to drown the sounds
of those situations
we both frequent,
to give half a heed
to words that name
the chaos in my brain.

What authority do you presume,
and why am I the subject
who suffers,
feels those notes in her bones
and stays stagnant
between years-old yearn
and a love that never
even held my hand? 

[8-27-11 11:45 pm]