It wasn't the middle of the night
It wasn't wanted
Unsure if you'd let me cross your threshold
But I thought you might

I'm always on my Last One
And you're always out to get some
If only I could take those threads
Tie them in a knot
Make them work
Maybe now I wouldn't have none

Like a thin veil
It consumes me
And all the thoughts
Unwanted
In the middle of the night
Don't make any sense
Never work in my favor
Now they're all I have

There you are
A bird flying into the distance
And slowly I forget
If you were even real to begin with

Get used
To being used;
Or maybe use
Your useful mind
To sort through this useless clutter.
The fine veneer
He coated over every place,
Space,
Sound,
Smell.
What used to be ours
Is now reused
By her.

Heavy silver hair
falls silently,
a razor slices away
the tiny slivers closest to your scalp.
Markers stencil
where he will saw
a report speaks
dry and clinical
of how it took you away.

I'm letting go
of the rope.

I'm going to watch
it slide
through the white satin sand
and sink into the water.

I'm going to memorize
the details
of the indentation it will make.

Then, I'm going to stop
building rafts
on the shore.

Then, I'll never have to watch
a sliding rope
mess up the sand
again.

I always build them a lovely raft
Caring tied to attention
Crazy used as string;
And finally a sail of love,
Golden and scared rises.
Some stay on the shore
Admire my work
But you stepped aboard
Untied yourself from the shore
And drifted
Taking with you my finest work

Left my heart beating
Lighted grid and tambourine
Never a goodbye.

"Isn't poetry
unless it rhymes, with meter"
...guess he won't listen.

Live without hurting
him, others, and the spirit.
Unattainable

First choice, that's you
A sugar-coated reply
Ending in delete.

If you see me
tell me to take your hand,
to stop the fall, to finally land,
before I reach the bottom of a black-bearded abyss.
Don't miss,
oh, and maybe one more kiss
before I see me
pulling everything away.

My eyes couldn't pound
through the seductive sound
the click
tick
stick
of the lock.
You saw me
your fingers tucked
deep in the pockets of your silence.

In a tunnel of lights,
a metamorphosis.
Stuck in a cocoon,
crooked in the silver,
reach, grasp, alas
the lace and white entwined
in piercings thru the darkness.
Green flutters to red.

My poems never rhyme,
So you'll never listen.
Wrists sliced
Tears
and sidewalk salty
Snow falling
a pure blanket humbles the city
I am far away from.
My eyes never see
So you'll never exist.

A coin spins
a decision to be made:
which side will show?
Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde.
Him, You.
You:
abused,
ragged edged,
pushed under the bed,
forgotten parts of a soul.
The ringing yields to silence.

The past
living in the mind, crisp at first.
A disintegrating leaf
beneath boots
it crumbles
pieces of you blow away.

"Get a degree
a high G.P.A.
a piece of modern adult identity.
Drive onto the racetrack with a real job--engine revved,"
say the boys:
Washington, Dad, and you.
Voices loud
Ears Deaf.

A lighted grid,
bleeding orange beams
and black rivers,
gazes up
confusing a steel bird
for a shooting star
wishes made
and regretted
burned in the stratosphere
of the folds in your mind
and the flatline of your heart.

Faked but believable,
her resolve to cut away
to throw away
to never resuscitate
all the bad parts
all the parts that chose her.
Replace the broken pieces
the useless pieces
with ones you pick out.