i've lined his sheets with
"tell me more"
"please don't go"
"lock the door"
and "pull me closer"

we've sewn
phrases, unintelligible noises, and whispers
into the mattress
one great cross-stitch
spread across the box spring

he's etched my skin with
"take your time"
"can i stay?"
"that doesn't rhyme"
and November Gray

we've read
excerpts, classics, and unfinished plots
among the sheets
words: a vehicle
to take us anywhere

She is too wide a world
To carry only
A bright side.

She is the hole in my
Roof. And the stars I get
To watch through it.

shot in the eye
shot in the brain
shot in the ***
shot like a flower in the dance

amazing how death wins hands down
amazing how much credence is given to idiot forms of life

amazing how laughter has been drowned out
amazing how viciousness is such a constant

I must soon declare my own war on their war
I must hold to my last piece of ground
I must protect the small space I have made that has allowed me life

my life not their death
my death not their death...

May I wrap my tongue with words I struggle to say out loud, and kiss you instead?

I am a metaphor
Is a metaphor
Is a statement
Is the truth.

Don't tell, but -
I missed my flight and...
And thought of you today.
That time when
You were working – a TV job...?
The details fade.

I was in the taxi
On my way
When suddenly the truth sank in –
I was not going to make it.

I almost called you
But I stopped myself -
You’d be at work,
I’d have to leave a message,
You’d call me back...

And the morale of the story
Would be - I am an idiot.
That’s all. An idiot.

I’m sorry and I feel stupid
And I want to call you now.

Now that I have
Something to confide
And no one to confide it in.