I'll take this space
adequately filled
with no one

And I'll drown it
introspectively
with ire

Conspicuous
consumption of
high regard

of breathless absence
and your presence
so willful

straining against
flitting away
from here

I am thinking
of a poem
I might
write someday
that is so good
you will
love it
and
tell everyone
and then
I will
be happy

this is my goal
head drooping
nearly unconscious
barely able
to get up
and collapse
into bed
darkness

This is a nevermind write
something I started without
a light
Something I push on am not
pulled|And I recoil here
And run off.  Or try.
What cravenous
keeps me here
incongruous with the night
and your desires

Searching thru the
"there is"'s I might employ
there is a way
there is a thing
there is a certain
and flipping 'em over
I find the lifter
of I am telling you
the penetrant  
of the membrane
invading
every molecule of now
you sitting knees up
happy in that chair
there

I can't write
I can lie
I can pay attention
in the wrong direction
and raise questions
that do not care at all

because you
are safe aren't you
I can't ring your phone
or rap on your door
to ask about your hate
hidden smirk appears

This is how high the river got, he said
pointing to the line at my head level
half way up the door frame

This rising above which I hold my head
Marking its climb in lives bright line's end
and the thrashing about of my protests

These slashes and the abruptness of missing
Limbs of my life, upon which I have clambered
thinking them permanent turned out other

Time is a razor working tirelessly at trimming
away everything to make room for everything
and I am just these lines moving out of sight