Category Archives: heartbreak

memo to a particular poet

i am going to bed, now
at 7:08
to lessen the ache
of being awake

this is a poem
this is the business
of us artists
this is “business correspondence”

inform a collaborator
a coworker – if you will
your passwords and processes
before taking those pills

my corazón has nearly bled-out
migrating across my torso, my limbs,
and my crown
settling into my cornflower eyes
bloodshot with or without drops and disguise

the weight of this goddamned red muscle
i’m so fucking heavy-hearted
this cursed organ’s still goin’
my sweetest, singular escape, now aborted

the only thing i can do right, right now
is to sleep
the only thing i can do wrong, right now
is to think

(who should i send this memo to?
– no one, if not, to you)


play possum

i’m fine

nothing’s wrong

i just really love this song
gives me the blues sometimes, is all

a snake, a possum, a doe and fawn
on the roadside killed, again, i saw

i heard the breaking news story
i’m awfully raw, so please ignore me

this world can be so cruel and wicked
of course, my tender heart’s afflicted

my glistened eyes, lump throat, quiver lip

you think they’re for you? well, that’s rich.

all lies, and also, all true.


someone

i feel like someone
you last loved on a wednesday,
earlier this week

i feel like someone who was once your intense singular joy/ now again, an invisible naturalist, poet, neologist and crone

i feel like someone you forgot to mention the Hilma Af Klint show to

i feel like someone losing our intimacy
exponentially, by the second, against a shot clock in an un-United Center

i feel like someone whose forehead you won’t kiss; whose hollows you’ll never touch with hands or tip; like someone who’ll never climax again

i feel like someone who upset you with
Dreaming and that’s where it ended; who never listened to your diatribe about Waco, or heard of your plane rituals and four-part fruition

i feel like someone whose mystery you’ll let be; whose content is consumed without gnosis; like cold leftovers

i don’t feel like someone who you will walk across a frozen Lake or dry Lake bed to get to anymore in the apocalypse, station eleven style

i feel like someone who was found because of fresh words about rosy-golden light and then who was lost because of stale words about time

i feel like someone whose Diego died before she did and who missed meeting her Henry Miller, humbly

i feel like someone who swallowed all the art she’ll never create with you and she’s choking on it

i feel like someone who’s just about to close up the library – MH

i feel like someone who you owe nothing to because that’s exactly how you told me to feel

i feel like someone waking from a months-long dream, but it was actually a coma from a head-on collision, exposition

crash into me again, please

this time, let me die knowing i’m your sweet,
i’m your love


ps i feel like someone who just wrote the last poem you’ll ever read about you
but i don’t feel like someone who just wrote her last poem about you