If I had known that twenty-six
Would look so much like thirteen,
I would have kept at least one
Elastic training bra to
Remind me I’m better at
Working under the wire now.

A row of empty tables;
Tables set for two,
Two crystal cups, a candle,
Everything but you.

An almost vacant restaurant
An hour from the close
With gentle scraping cutlery
And everything but you -

Oh, what awareness that it brings
Of each person born alone
To live alone,
To die alone,
To wait, and sit and chew.

A row of empty tables,
But I’m filling in the view
And the waiter takes the rest away -
Everything but you.

Could you repeat that?
It’s just that the white-water cascade is drowning
Your words before I get the chance to process –
What precisely do you mean
When you say this is perfect,
The perfect idea and
The perfect spot
On the edge of
Something so
right and good
That it kills,
But it’s
"Too
bad"?

I can't get dressed and
I don't wanna run
Or do the things that
Get me to the Human gold standard.
I just want someone
To pluck me off of the floor,
Towel and all,
And dance with me.

I once pitched wishes
Up to stars that listen as well as stars can hear.
My wishes were well crafted plans
Bounding faster and faster and faster
Through a void that cares as well as voids can care.

I’ve noticed just the way
you’ve got this spotty patchwork over the bridge of your nose,
Restless eyes, and try-hard hands.
And I’ve noticed that you’ve noticed that I’m noticing.  
Your attention could mean nothing.
Your affection could mean everything.
Could I crack you open as much as I please?
Bit by skeletal bit by interstellar bit?  
Could I query the fragments for a lifespan
And would they yield, and yield something new each time?

I’d like never to cast another wish
To those gaseous lights bearing hopeless charges into a space
Unfeeling, unfathomed, undone.
I’ll ditch those stars above that never have a thing to say,
because you’ve got your heart upon your sleeve,
the biggest ears I’ve ever seen, and
Orion’s belt written straight across your face.

Timpanic membrane mumbles transform into
Crescendoes, dumb  except   within skull walls.
Not quite like a burn, not quite like a sting this
din deigns to drag out old heartaches and new
failures and fresh ideas and stale aspirations but
stuck in staccato can any one idea stay  or   are
they doomed to rattle, to deafen?  They come
and go and is the thought  even  finished  with
these streams  of   consciousness  up  against
dull  tasks,  wasting  commands  and  ­all  these
commands waste so much energy. When I just
want the world to  stand  still  is  there any
one – yes it is                                 who  weaves
back in and               YOU                 that resonates
in overtones.                                 have made the
mental madness manageable when  you quietly
                          stop the leaking gap.
A plane on which to  balance.  A  grip  with   which
to bolster stronger blisters.
                            A quieting yes to block out
out the trembling timbre.
You are order out of chaos.

In the evening’s repose,
My silent film dreams
honor you, and
in the morning
I wake to noiselessness
and a thunderous heart

You cannot realize dreams solely from your strife in life ;
But can you make them immortal in graves - yours, mine?
A weakened, timorous, coward beast am I
Who made a fleeting choice only to watch the laid way
Unravel.

No, I shall not run amok.
No, I shall not waste your time.
No, I have had the power all along to leave you
But I stay.

If you are going to shoot,
Shoot me between the eyes.
Meld two gazes together so that when you reach Eden
You bring my sight.
I deserve to crest the horizon, too.  

By George, my hands are large,
They err, they wring,
And perhaps they hold the worst parts of you
Or the long-sung song of some childhood gone by.
But, at least give me a fighting chance to
Bend the barrel.