Stranger's footsteps
Weighty ties to slender lies
Dressed up with pretty words
Stunning enough to distract you
and make you forget

Today was the first time that we swam at night.  
       [That’s not technically true,
   because I’ve  glided through the water to stare at the stars,
but that had a much more midnight feel to it
and wasn’t really swimming

I'm a blank piece of paper
                    colored by company
    drawn from memory
of what has and hasn't worked before.

Long green grass of the lawn
          my mother told me to mow
(and I never did)
      
      leaving the screen doors unlocked--

I ran down the rocky slope
ignoring the rocks that pressed against
yellow callused feet
inches thick
stumbling over ankles

So she began to carelessly trade away pieces of herself
because those were certainly worth less than
the words
the words that would delve into the heart of midnight and  
she wanted--she needed---to touch with her pen what had slipped through her fingers, bring a voice to her heart and her eyes

and why do you adore him?
the cheating man to the cheating wife
who cast aside her pearls and ripped the dress off
bursting on the seams
beginning on the inside

And we're only hiding because we're hoping someone will think to come looking.
Well we're wrong
and they won't.

So shiver.

it was that slight, sad hang of your smile
tugging at the colors of your face
that defeated look in your eyes
that was half humorous
and half sad

i see you watching me
put these words to paper
you're over my shoulder
attention hanging heavier above my head than a brick.
there is a desire to address the audience

I would love to throw away something
beautiful--

To scribble words with dulled silver graphite
that paint the universe and color deep blue midnights

If you come back
next spring with the wind and the rain
storming my castles
with armies of ghosts
seep through the walls

And that is American.

Our eyes catch a glimpse
of What Could Be
and determine to make it

I'm done writing your book.
I'm done writing your stories
and I'm done listening to your songs
and I've lost all the blood your whispers used to swim through
I'm done driving down suburban streets at midnight

it's like the high
it hits you after you'd expect it

it's self pity mixed with sorry mixed with frustration and tempered rage.