I do not know what is real,
Are there words real,
Real the poem,
Are you real,
you that reads this?

I question myself,
Everything and everyone,
The only answer I have
Is that I am alive between
The verses.

My little black book is dusty,
The names are smeared and
Most of them were landline numbers.
For you youngsters,
Get on your parents lap and ask em
To tell ya what landlines were:
    And I hate your love poem
    Because I know they are real,
    I need a girlfriend,
    Maybe I forgot how that feels.
    
    I hate your love poem,
    Its really quite good,
    But the t reminds me I'm all
    Alone, alone in da hood.

    I hate your love poem
    Because I don't know any girls,
    And yeah some are corny,
    Some make me wanna hurl!

    So don't get it wrong,
    Please try to understand,
    I'm just a little jealous,
    Alone and doing what I can.

After you left
                         I moved to a bigger house
as if I needed more space for my thoughts of you
as if I had the strength to
remember you

I measured the size of each room
and touched every corner
                of that tremendous place
                trying to guess how many moments
                how many of our early mornings
                                                       in embrace
                                                       it would take
                      to repel the shadows of emptiness
                      to turn the color and shade of my contempt

I opened each window
and closed my eyes, shutting out the
                wailing of a so tired heart
                holding the silence
                                              in all its weight

Chump knuckles down, brings it on
to blow a dandelion head clean off
with one large exhalation
of love.