you've waited so long out here, in a night, let science into your heart, you're left on a cross, that drank the worst, and never better, saying, I am lovable for who..., in acid tongues, in crippling, splayed, heart of fools, held to gold, i could never hold it.

i've waited at the water, a tiny ship without a motor
the steam sits on my nose, and eyes dripping out of focus
they leave my feet to hang, but never stir the surface
i've hoped for the ocean, yet nothing's really worth it.

they christen their boats, break the bottle to my head
and set sail, as brave masters of swollen breath
i'm losing limbs into the swell, clinging to defeat
sea sick from any motion, choking on my teeth.

but the sky is a line, and if i tugged at it
you could come tumbling out just in time
to brighten my life, like the colours would wish
side by my side, two little stones skipped.

she's waited at the water, a little ship without the sail
while wind smears her cheek, heart's hoping for a tale
they leave her hands to hang, but never feel deserving
to hope for the ocean, when

[they christen their boats, break the bottle to my head
and set sail, as brave masters of swollen breath
i'm losing limbs into the swell, clinging to defeat
sea sick from any motion, yet she never quite retreats.]

what can we do with this rage, but make something, so fucking beautiful, so fucking raw, heat and skin and fuck and love. sometimes you have to scream, so that fire, and fucking world, you're breathing loudly, spitting life.

you're so full of love, cut down the middle, to the wet street and the cold sky, you fucking walk.

i stare at the grass and imagine i'm dripping through it, thunder storms for finger tips, puddles where i walk.

i'll turn this fear into words, trap it in a sentence, supress it, just a page, tear the spine from its form, a book cannot murder me.

This time I'm standing up. This time I've got the devil's grin.

for it fell away without sense, but saint elmo's fire, at the tips of your eyes.

if only we could keep the words that are said, are sent, that drip from our tongues, in flecks across someone elses brain, wherever it is that these words go and are trapped and strung and sorted, and made into colour, a spark, and nothing. we keep photographs in boxes, or we tear them up, but words just come and go. not the posed words of a book, but the rough things, the blurry wants, the young babble, the scathing attacks, the wretched graves...

i've pinned a piece of the sky to my chest
so let me know when i'm falling for you.

what do we want for

what do we want for, but someone to chase our name into the night, lay fingertips over a crooked sieve, save our cities from the endless mist.