I cannot find
solid ground
in you
anymore.

I tried to
write
a poem about you
but instead
I scribbled a
big, orange-ink blob
and I figured
that made
just as much sense.

then you were gone)

                                        and all of a sudden
i felt my bones turn to dust
&i; became nothing more than the
distance between two dirt roads
that led to a dream i could never quite reach.

i became nothing, which scared the me that
used to be something, until something was nothing
but a memory.  but

nothing could see all of the universe
at the height of the swing set and
one single-cell world underneath something's
fignernail.

i am still nothing,
and nothing is okay with that.

but even though i can hold all of space
within the palm of my nothing hand
i still can't learn how to breathe at night
when all my lungs can find is an undisturbed silence
and my last remaining memories of you.

you've got just enough flaws
to be
         absolutely
                          *******
                                            perfect.

if you'd like,
we could play pretend-
i'd be sylvia plath, if you'd
be my modern-day
cummings;

we can meet in
the coffee shop on
forty-eighth and first
and talk about suicide
over tall cups of coffee
that taste like your grandfather's cigars

and when neither of us are
up for walking
we'll go out to the park
and sit
on the bench by the pond
and hold hands

(i won't really feel your fingers by mine
until they become
sticky with sweat; we'll look at each other
and realize it doesn't mean a thing
to either
except for maybe the first attempt on both parts
to not feel so alone)

when the sun sets,
i'll cry
and not have an answer
when you ask for one.

burn the light of fire
and wax the ears of injustice.

chide the moon
and bid ado to the reckless sun.

count the blessings of misfortunes
and wave verbs in the air--
breathing the hopeful breaths of married sandals

Label the pains of a billion rain drops and fawn the feathers
of a nightingale over the glory of failed
triumphs known as yesterday.

break the hands of a wristwatch and make a ******* of time--
for through the God in Satan was how Earth was won.