I have not slept in days

Days run from me on marathon dreams against asphalt scented headboards

If I move a fraction to the left, you can feel the curvature of my spine etched into these iron bars,

If I move a mile to the right, you can see these iron bars welded to my spine

I stand up every so often to straighten out curves in unwanted places –

Maybe this is why I don’t sleep.

In my dreams there is a girl with a face that looks like mine with a body that looks like hers

In my dreams I know damn well it’s oil and water and no science experiments could make that body mine

Maybe that’s why I don’t sleep, so I’m not disappointed in what I wake up to

I don’t sleep because you’ll never see me swim (not just because I can’t, but because I won’t fit the attire)

Maybe I don’t sleep because you won’t see me grace a magazine cover because I don’t fit the qualifications

But me people tell me I do:

“You look fine”

“What’re you talking about”

“You look great”

Well thank-you; that’s sweet

But I don’t remember your mouth syncing with what my eyes are seeing

Maybe that’s why I don’t sleep

Or maybe it’s because I nap all day

Or because I make impulsive purchases at 2 am because I crave hot chips

Or my phone is blowing up and I’m waiting.

Maybe I don’t sleep because I’m sticking it to the man – the patriarchy and the government, both have to go

But either way – I have not slept in days

Days run from me on marathon dreams against asphalt scented headboards

I can neither move to the left nor jump to the right


I have not slept in days.

Peach Pit

Little peaches hang from crooked finger branches, heavy with sweat and iron

Daisies trampled under feet caked with present and presents past, watch as

Snowflake cherubs sprint across wallpaper stripped skies like

Summertime bullets in clapboard neighborhoods.

Ring true the bounce and spring from apple blossoms smoked and smothered

By ashes reigning from pulpits gently battered

Cherry Red Raspberry Blue

There is a popsicle stain on the pants I bought to take to college

That is what I get for being impatient.

Had I worn different pants; had I not eaten the popsicle,

But I fall in love every time I open my freezer door –

colored corn syrup

clear food dye

100% not juice

I often think that popsicle flavors are calls to children’s imaginations and stabs to the adult psyche

Red is not a flavor, but a color

And yet to me, it tastes like strawberries or cherries

But I know strawberry and cherry are just code for red 40

I love it when the flavor is unrecognizable: “blue”

Blue tastes like blue raspberry

Blue raspberry is not a fruit

Then blue berry it must be, but if it were – blue berry – I would know.

It would taste nothing like blue raspberry