purdytown, pa

it was three hours into the drive

before we realized that our

nutrageous pit stop

had driven us into the tangle

of pennsylvania highways.

two more hours passed

before we found ourselves

directionless in front of

a cinder-bricked church.

we were late,

we were lost,

we were laughing.

a creamy june moon slept high above

a stone wall,

and third grade dares

to toe along the divide between road and graveyard

were issued.

grappling arms and quivering summer legs

strung us together,

suspended momentarily in the

commonality of fear.

logic over enamorment

below the gray of early winter

i pick up my dangling roots,

disappointed that i waited

until after the first frost

to loosen myself

from conditional love's icy touch.

thanks for liking me when i wore matching beads & headbands

it's been four months too long.

and yet you still have a knack

for making

everything logical.

tired of being intoxicated under the influence of conversation.

something tells me that there's more to

car rides

when you thumb the tongue of my boot

over stocking.

more to the advances your mouth makes

as we shuffle a deck of cards

in a small apartment

on an immeasurable campus

in a cluttered state

in a world of billions.

i'd like to think

that there's something more

to three years of

desperate phone calls

detailing the imminent deaths of grandparents,

the october moon,

the dream still warm on our foreheads;

but unaccountable moments

could be meaningless

or the purpose.

at the end of the world

in a small house

just off of an immeasurable campus

in a cluttered state

in a mass of billions

you confessed, "i know it's not right,

but i need you."

i stayed

numb like a wind-bit lip

and put you to bed on a staircase

as i watched the casablanca lily

of tomorrow

unfold.

october

fall sets the earth on fire

and offers my cloaked loneliness

chilled acknowledgment.

falling up

slats like spaces

between the stairs

that acted as dams of tomorrow

in my fluid intoxication.

i rub and i press

i brush and i knead

but the bruise of

yesterday's careless strides

sticks like a corkscrew

in my embarrassed shin.

being on that pedestal must be a bitch.

you're

the viscious memory

of not-quite soaking clouds

and cold hands

feverishly pressed together

on a bus to brooklyn.

the

warmest thought

against my forehead

before i fall into dreams,

reminsicent of vodka blankets

and the uncontrollable vocabulary

of a hurricane philosopher.

we can talk as much as we want

or silence our ticker tape thoughts

but we end up in bed regardless.

i have a knack for one-liners

and a pocket full

of projections

that i toss like bread crumbs

to starving artists.

i know you're hungry

but you shouldn't have taken the bait.

drafts #2

sin destinario

first aid kit, beirut, cherry ghost, emmy the great, sia

sin destinario

bon chat, bon rat

sin destinario

you always feel like you are the only one in the world, everyone is crazy for each other. generally, people don't like each other very much. and that goes for friends too.

sin destinario

9654*#

sin destinario

we don't know anything. we don't know how to cure a cold or what dogs are thinking. we do terrible things, we make wars, we kill people out of greed. so who are we to say how to love pg. 4

sin destinario

bottles of wine per chapter, one special bo

sin destinario

cat power boxing glove

sin destinario

the entire emphasis would be put on listening. a cult following would sit around and close their eyes while they draw what comes to mind. box of crayons included with the dvd

sin destinario

wicked tiger; he looks proud