"that's beyond the scope of my
project"--watch the philosophy TA's
little mice hands scrabble her glasses

back up her nose when you ask her
questions for which she doesn't have
an answer. make it a game to research

philosophers she probably hasn't studied
just for the satisfaction of her easy
mechanical reaction, her sick little palsied

blink, the "that's beyond the scope of
my project" and then the round glasses--
like Sisyphus' boulder, you watch them

again and again slip back to base and wonder
what kind of masochism it implies that she
hasn't gotten contacts already

like visiting a zoo you only feel bad once -- warn me in colorful flowers placed on my windowsill 

slowly gluing some thing back together, a specifically meaningful action seems so  

unbelievable in the face of what i understand - are animals specifically more aware of certain information? 

how many times you stubbed your toe today vs how many people smiled at you today 

unfortunately that's enough reason for why you always fake leaving

i finally heard a one direction song
and i don't get it
i just don't
get it

and since moving to a city
i have been able to find music
in the sounds of buses stopping
and swerving around other motorists

there is a song in putting your life
into a grumpy bus driver's hands
and the notes all sound garbled through
the speaker

teAARRGEESSSSs
and university
next stop

san francisco (words+inspiration from Max's Urbanism IV)

I think of years later,
like that day on the subway
when rain crept across the rubber mats
passengers stepped on
pushing wet hair out of their eyes

This commute is routine now,
crossing the water and admiring
nametags on roofs and tunnels
your encouraging words still
ring with the sound of train brakes

With spilt coffee, the rush to exit,
and the sharp burn of ocean wind
or maybe the lack of service this
route maintains its reputation for,
I missed your call, again

Urbanism IV

Years later by coincidence
unexpected layover strands me
once more in your city

Here, winter sounds are rubber
the hiss of tires through slush
squeaking wet soles

It was cold then too, but
you of the starbucks eyes
made me feel my blood again

The espresso machine shrieks
somewhere out there in the grey
my train replies

Snow falls, I'm flipping my phone
open and shut, open and shut
I seem to have lost your number

This Body Made Of Wind Chimes

Sleep with me, asleep. Hold my hands,
with your hands or inside
your mouth.

There aren't any tea leaves to read.
There aren't any poems worth reading.
There aren't any novels left unread.

I am sad and all the words are red
and white and quietly parallel

Parking between other words.

Let's get up.
Let's do something.

Let's just put on Queen. No one can
sleep with Freddie Mercury
screaming in their ear.

It's too windy and everything is
smashing into something else.