Two paths diverged
in a yellow wood,
and wishing to travel
both,
I looked,
saw trees,
sat down,
instead.

That thing you said
made home inside me,
sweats through my feet,
seethes my ******* teeth.

Making lists
of things I like
to buy on tees
one day.

Hell is a dry place
with coffee stains and fruit flies,
with lesser vowels.

sleep
comedy
love,
is mostly
timing.

too early
or late,
you're tired
alone
unfunny.

My ears pop
as I climb your stairs,
steal breath
with a cat
halfway home,
get dizzy
and skeletal,
queasy hungry,
reminding myself
to not look up
or down,
count the steps,
breathe the breaths,
hypnotic hope,
tendons tending
over thresholds
to temples,
hands to heads,
to take trash
and bills
back down,
heels and rails,
bend my
spine,
stoop
again to earth.

i was never half so naked
as you torturing your genius.

when you put me into poses,
made me lines and blue,
drew me over death,
sketched me skewed
atop your live-in girlfriend.

when you found your lost
love
and painted,

and when you found it less impressive,
you and that child,
sealed your cold, careless
portrait of me
behind ugly bricks,

made art of your apology,
and grace of your grace.