Back in the swing of things

I met with Kim Winebrenner today and decided that I'm going to graduate by next spring (very terrifying!). So seeing that I need to have an extensive writing portfolio finished by next year (especially if I want to apply for an MFA program), I need to start writing and reading a lot more. I've decided to start up my monthly poems again and I'm going to try to give myself a writing prompt or ask friends to give me a prompt every week. I also want to get back into drawing/photography so I have something else to woo the people who look at my writing collection.

Blah blah blah busy busy busy. No sleep for me next year.

Brian and Jon (pantoum)

This night will kill us both, Jon says
He rubs his bleeding thumb on a rock
Brian shrugs and pulls some grass from the riverbed
The moon hums to the beat of their eardrums

He rubs his bleeding thumb on a rock
Brian hears nothing but the blood in his chest
The moon hums to the beat of their eardrums
Jon washes his hand in the river

Brian hears nothing but the blood in his chest
Jon’s eyes are heady with wine
Jon washes his hand in the river
The dew of Brian’s lips is on Jon’s shoulder

Jon’s eyes are heady with wine
They stained their hands with stone
The dew of Brian’s lips is on Jon’s shoulder
Jon holds the bleeding rock, afraid to let it go

The pupils in their eyes are as far as Orion's Belt
Brian shrugs and pulls some grass from the riverbed
The color in their eyes is as close as Orion's Belt
This night will kill us both, Jon says

Skin (haiku)

Pink paint chips and falls
From the railing like dead skin
On a pillowcase

I dive into your skin

I dive into your skin like liquid
burrow in the cracks
of your hands
slide across the dip
near your collar bone
oh how nice it feels!

on the tip of my nose

I hold the color in your eyes
(the golden honey crater orbs)
and whisper,
I want you most on the weekends
at 6 o’clock in the evening

your hair curls around
my brain like
sugar-sweet tentacles
tickling my thoughts

the small white scar
on the divot of your back
reminds me you are human
reminds me you are mine

but does that make you
a possession, saying
“you are mine”?

because you are not
something to own
nor a liquid
nor even a person

but a small, twinkling idea
settled on the bottom
of my ribcage
sending sporadic bursts
of sunlight warmth
through my light, white body

Really old, really embarrassing photos

Circa 2006