Double Pane Glass

My kid will grow up
on the other side
of double pane glass.

Two layers
of see through
protection
between her
and the world.

Can two panes
of glass
keep out those
who will dismiss her
for being a girl?

Can two panes
of glass
keep out hate?

Aren't two panes of glass
harder to break than one?

Because one pane of glass
breaks so easily
and I know,
I can't afford
triple pane.

Holidazed

I've fallen in love with the world again.
It's so fucking beautiful and so wrong, how can it can contain itself?

The soggy gray light is dripping on the incarcerated aluminum holiday bows. They are dying together in the cold winter air of San Francisco.

An origami man is folding into himself on the corner. He can't retain his shape as he rocks slowly, back and forth. The haphazard clumps of his brown hair match the desperation in his eyes - they are flying in all directions, together.

Simplified

My broken list is long - bones, feelings and insight. 

I live for the damages,  in breaking wrongness, sometimes we make right. 

Negative space defines just as much as the positive.

Love your dark and your light and treat yourself with kindness. 

Distraction

I'm sorry.

Sometimes, there is only space for my thoughts.

I'm wrapped up in them, tied with beautifully impossible bondage knots.

I am safely contained and free to jerk and twist in a pre-orgasm fight.

They won't let me go until I come and then, and then.. you can tell me what you need at the grocery store.

I will offer to buy you everything that I am not.

"When Harry met John"

He led with a vicious crotch, you responded with a blurred one-two - left upper cut, right hook combo that earned his respect.

We watched in fascination while you took each other down like only lovers can.

Our arms were ready to catch, our hearts ready to be give because fuck you two fought like snarling tigers - two inch claws shiny with blood.

Four years later, we see you walking down the street wrapped in each other, wearing your scars with pride, swaggering in the light of jealous glances.

*Note - no actual people were harmed in the making of this poem

"Sums"

This place is made of pieces so high in number that we cannot enumerate them, we cannot comprehend.

Really, that is the problem. We can't count.
Counting is holding a quantity in our minds; a tangible.
We're far from reality, out on the edge.

We go from one number to the next without understanding til we reach the ends of our ability to hold on anymore.

Today, my number will be equal to the tangent of a microscopic rock hitting another rock in a solar system so far away that its distance is equal to the probability that I will understand your number tomorrow.

"Photograph"

I have no idea what I'm trying to say in this picture.

Translate it for me please.
Tell me that it contains pain and love.
Tell me you understand me by looking at this snapshot of my brain projected onto plastic and chemicals because I know you need to.

You hold the judgment in your body ready to unload the burden - you are desperate to prove your worth by having held it.

I see it, defining us.

"Definitions, for those who need them"

Here's a nice inappropriate poem to get us started.. 

I suck at poetry and I have no idea why my mind comes up with these things. It seems to be an itch that must be scratched occasionally.

In a northern nonexistent continent there are no words for objects like lips or breasts.

In a southern nonexistent continent there are no words for actions like imagining or desiring.

In that nonexistent world, my reality exists only at the equator - the intersection of the untranslatable where I am fucking you senseless.