I have nothing left to write
No brilliant bursts of passion and idea
I throw things at the wall
And they slide to the floor
My head chugs along slowly
A few seconds behind the rest of me
Maybe I'll start writing haikus
Imagine that

I miss the longing
And you
Sometimes I wish you'd slide
Back into place
In a last second buzzer beater
With a laugh
Muttering gotchas
And I'd be sixteen again
And my head wouldn't be so heavy
Platinum blonde
Only looks good when you're young

In early april
Maybe march
I wrote a book
A full story front to back
Slapped onto receipts and post-it notes
And I had so much to say
About a little bit of everything
I felt so big and mean
My brain must weigh three tons
Maybe a little more
And every day I ****** liquid gold
And **** a faberge egg
I wrote scripture and law
Grand sparkling things
I'd chuckle to myself
And shake my head
You've done it again champ!
I would've never quit
God it was artistry
You wouldn't get it
I had so much to say
That my pen ran dry

There is no love in the south
It's too hot for something like that
My shirt clings to my back
I bury the hatchet
I drive the rails
I don't have enough money
To stop sweating long enough
To comb my hair back
And put a belt on
I don't have the cash on me right now
To drive that far
In the steaming rain
I can't see a **** thing
With these windshield wipers
I don't have the money
To get new ones
And I definitely don't have enough
To go around spending it on you
I bury the hatchet
I drive the rails

Last night i tried writing a letter again
I sat cross legged by the lamplight
I wrote sugarwater on the blackboard
There's nothing to say about death
All poetry is done
I wouldn't know a thing about it anyway
Do you feel nothing?
Is that worse?
I'll have to ask you about it sometime
I went to sleep with the lamp still on
I'll try again tomorrow
When i'm not so busy

early december in my mind’s eye
i am reading cohen again
i shave my head - i wear Your clothes
i sleep in the garage
there are no windows

the roof leaks quick trails of water
even when i hear no rain
i go barefoot most days
there is no one left to impress with courtesy

i won’t make Your bed
i left Your trash on the floor
and the pills in Your dresser
i don’t want to see how it looks
when You don’t live here

i eat once a day
if the mood hits me right
and if it gets quiet
i restring Your guitar

i went to see You last week
i had nothing to say
because You are not this headstone
what do i say to a rock
You still make me feel stupid

it never gets this cold in june
i fall asleep in the snow

Your eyes were chalkboards as you stumbled into your room
Blacklight flashbulbs
Work uniform untucked and licking at your shoulder blades
With each step you kissed the floorboards
That's what the autopsy said anyway
You clawed through the spit and spatter of perfume samples and photo booth mishmash
And pulled yourself up with white lightning
The strip mall pleasantries
It snowed deep enough to **** your autobiography into the mountainside
And we never made sugar cookies again