My cat has lived with me for six months

And it’s only been a day

Since I found out

That he loves loves loves

To be touched on his eyelids.

He abandons his body to me

And falls asleep.

I suppose death

Doesn’t have to feel sad,

I just need something

Like that eyelid massage

For my own body,

And get a good dose of that

Before I croak.

I am a cat without owner,

Sob sob.

Let’s just put an ad on craigslist:

Edible
Reward
To The Discoverer
Of Uncharted

Erogenous
Zones.

It feels easier to write

When I’ve been reading brilliant books:

I feel smarter

Until I go look for a specific passage

And realize I remember them all wrong.

The guy inside my skull

Is rearranging furniture

While listening to my party mix playlist

On Spotify,

Which I am too embarrassed about

To make public.

I know what you’re thinking!

You’re thinking

That I really should write

About riding a fucking horse to California.

Either that

Or that guy that I’m hung up about.

Hahaha,

You think you know me,

Don’t you.

What I’m really thinking about 

Is the drawing

Of a bear

And an alligator

Having an argument

On the cover of Matthew’s novel

About our life together.

Je me demande:

Am I the bear

Or the alligator?

San Valentino

I wish I could say

That sleeping with someone

Who isn't you

In this bed that isn't mine

Felt entirely right.

(And I did kiss him first.)

That I don't mind

Stepping on used condoms

Days later.

I wish I could say

I didn't falter tonight

When I talked

In front of a crowd.

But my voice broke

Many,

Many times.

I'm not the best at acknowledging facts

Which is why I force myself to write.

I didn't know how much I missed you

Until someone mentioned you today.

She said that you drank a lot last night,

Because friends kept buying you drinks.

That you were hilarious,

That you apologized for the state you were in

And made sure everybody knew

How to get back home.

She had never really liked you

Before.

"He's a sweet drunk,"

She said.

I said:

"That's the person I met

In October,

And yes,

I thought he was great.

I didn't know

He'd been drinking

Since five."

And the further we walked

Down Bedford

Looking for Vanessa's Dumpling House

The more I longed for you.

Can you feel it

From your end

Of the borough?

I am sending it out,

This freak of a feeling

Because it needs some air,

The drizzle will refresh it

And on its way back home

It will hopefully get lost,

Get hit by a cab,

Wander the docks

Like a ghost,

Haunt Red Hook

For the next fifty years.

And yet

Eventually

I will hear it scratching

At the door,

It knows I need it

To give shape

To my restlessness.

I'm sorry I fled

A week ago

When our eyes met

In the hallway.

You were trying to be nice,

I saw the beginning of a nod,

I can lie to you in public

Where I'm playing

My role,

Pretending I don't mind

You're there,

Focusing on work

(As useless as it is,

Since I know

That you know).

But not when it's just

Your eyes

And mine.

I should wear a bracelet

That screams if I get too close.

Less than a hundred feet!

Whaaahaaa!

This is my sad

And funny

Valentine

For you,

An ego-boost for a rainy night

(In the unlikely case you read this),

The proof that I'm bored with everyone,

More than I knew,

And something that we'll never talk about

since I will deny it is about you

Until the end of times,

When stars start crashing down

And the Earth is ablaze.

Sometimes

You walk really fast

Because you're in New York.

You slip on ice,

You like and hate everyone you meet,

You feel ugly after trying on the usual size of jeans.

They are too small now.

You drink white tea

Not brewed very well,

And you wonder why

The person who once professed 

To love you more

Than anyone else

Is being a jerk.

He hasn't returned 

Any of your calls for weeks

And we all know what that means

In America.

You suppose he doesn’t need you as a friend

Now that he has a lover who isn’t just his muse.

She is a poet, so they write together

And she’s a dominatrix

So they do whatever it is they do.

Plus, she gets interviewed by Vice.

It turns out that

He doesn't really hate YOU, 

He hates the phone.

Oh, je comprends,

Let's all hate the medium,

Let's love the message,

But don't shoot the pianist

Or the ambassador.

Everything, 

Everyone,

Indecipherable,

Opaque,

Blank.

You like this loft you’re in

But you worry about

The cold.

Will you catch something and die

Here in New York?

Where you’re afraid

Of things being too good

Since you will have to leave soon.

You pray for the perfect balance of

Good and Bad,

You want a man

Who’ll love you,

But from a distance.

Brave

But scared.

Black and White,

Sensual,

Intellectual,

Predator and 
Prey.

I want to hate you right now
But in my dreams you are a nice person

I woke up to the stupid sound
Of my phone alarm

And went back to bed,

Since my flight to New York
Got canceled.

I’m in a print studio

That looks like our school's print studio,

Except its door opens on a sidewalk

With people hanging out,

Drinking wine,

Speaking Castilian Spanish.
I’m opening a drawer full of animal blocks,

You walk in

I look up

You nod

I look down,

Disturbed.

Then, it unmistakably becomes a dream

Because our print shop

Moving to a Spanish town

Is more likely than what happens next:

You open your mouth and speak to me.
It is small talk,

Friendly,

Nonchalant.
“I hate you,”

I say.

“Ok,”

You say.

“Come with me.”

You grab my sleeve,

You drag me out of the studio.

We’re on a lush, warm island

And we’re going up

In an open elevator

For what feels like hours.

As we do

I see a barn

With a grassy roof 

Where horses go to sleep at night.

We finally get to your place,

The elevator stops

There are many rooms

Strewn with clothes.

I look around,

I imagine you here with her.

I stop in front of an aquarium.

There are all kinds of threatening animals.

The hermit crabs are taking over,

One comes out of the water
And devours a spider

That was passing by.

It’s exactly what I hoped would happen,

I am surprised by my own cruelty.

I wonder where you went,

But I feel calm:

Wherever you are

You haven’t left the house

And I know that you’re still an asshole

But you care enough to want to talk.

Any moment now you will appear and tell me

Something sad but sweet 

And I will hate you a little less.

Maybe we will drink some whiskey,

I will imagine kissing you

But I most definitely won’t.

I will transfer that energy

To a kiss in the future,

To someone

Who maybe lives in New York

And wants to be kissed.

You still haven’t come back.

I’m looking at sea creatures.
My dreaming self is pleased:

"These sea creatures look great,
Good job imagining them."