Sunday, June 28, 2009


once you were gone
i crawled off of the couch
and into your bed

put on your best dress shirt
and lay there
petrified of wrinkling it

and i thought "i will live honestly today"
which means "i will not leave this bed ever"

Monday, June 8, 2009


the worst part about an incoming nervous breakdown
is that it's incoming

i don't know how to write a poem
i only know that i came into my bedroom
expecting to see me sleeping there
wishing i could put my guitar down gingerly
and kiss my own forehead--

is it possible for you to remember
a memory you don't remember
a brick fireplace in ann arbor

i've been remembering two things:
you & your impossibility

but mainly your impossibility
which i must always return to
not a washbasin or the smooth of a collarbone
under a hotel sheet