I can't think of titles
But only bullets in rifles
What color is blood?
How can I understand truth
When there are only lies?
Show me all your party tricks
Say the same lines
One in bed
One in the shower
One dinner
One linear
Up and down is always certain
I draw the curtain

I don't have much
To love you with
A small light and such
A tight hold, a soft clutch
The stars align
A mystic sign
A hopeful line
An I love you
That doesn't make sense
It's meant to be in past tense
Because you don't mean it
Please, give me something to fill this pit

Variations on a theme
same play, different team
I kick the ball
But they don't receive
I start to call
But cannot answer
Quiet parasite
Quick cancer

Your red eyes
French fry fingers
Only look when they won't remember
Loose trip
Tight grip

Your heavy sighs
A million angel singers
Only listen when they can't hear
A little sharp
A little broken harp

Your compulsive lies
Your scar lingers
Only comforting the next day
Sit. Stay.
Come what may.

When skies are blue
The right shade
The right hue
things are made
extrapolation
compilation
Of time and pain
Of loss and gain
I listen but find no words
I look but nothing appears
And as the fog clears
And the light breaks
I find what makes
I find what takes
I find what fakes.

You are the last drop
circling around the ice cubes
and I am the fish
at the bottom of the glass
tossing and turning
looking and yearning.

You are a wide net
to let
all my lions out
and I am the metal
you should have used instead.

You are no amount
infinity isn't enough
and I am the stuff
you ***** out with *******

You are a rough that lingers
because you scar,
and I am one, single,
shooting star.

Am I a black bird piercing the sky
or the space between your sigh
and my lie?
Am I an amber drink
or just a poem that makes you think
or the blood thats in the sink?

I scratch and hatch
some kind of plan
to sift through all this sand
surrounding me like a grave
but I walk nowhere
on these limp legs
on these wooden pegs
splintering underneath me

I unhitch and restitch
all the wounds
all the suitcases
all the trailers and all the trash
I throw out and blow out
all the people
all the places
all the face and the traces
of whatever this "me" is