If you tell me
There's a moon tonight,
I'll wait for it.

If you tell me
There's a sunrise at dusk
I'll wait for it.

If you tell me nothing,
If you give me nothing,
If you promise nothing,

I'll wait for it,

Because I was never waiting.

I am always here

With

And

Without you.

It's late and
Too early,
You tell me and
Keep telling me.

At noon
We'll have to make
Dinner because
Breakfast
Next week wasn't canceled.

I'm tired,
We say and we're right,
We're right,

We've always been right,
You and I and everyone and no one and again,
Everyone.

It's just a matter of whose running the show
For no one

And everyone.

A perfect poem
You wrote once
Was the one
Thinking
Of a room full of friends

That would never fully understand you.

That's why there's jazz.

You love them.

You love them
Both.

But then,
I'm in love with you.

And all I want is

Midnight and the moon and a saxophone

That only knows our tune

Along with the piano and,

Death.

Is that so much to ask?

Then there was you
And I
Saw you as true
As the wind

Or as a gas agents smile

Or a cloud
Lined
On the Carolina sky.

You were there
And I was
Here;
No denying it.

Recognition is
Never facing
Reality. Reality is facing
Cause with action, to take you
To the last place
You may be wanting to want.

I
Just wanted

To write something

And feel, per my training,
Like I'm being seen.

*******.

It's all make-believe
Until it's not.

Each position is a step
For another spot,
Another title,
Another

You.

There is no place
But tomorrow.

The present
Has already passed.

I think of novels
That have stood up
Against the onslaught of time
And tried to learn
From their prose, only to
See past their spell
Of literary-ness.

Take me on a hike, I whisper
To myself.

Show me you're as afraid
Of the dust on the
Untouched pages
Of library books
As I am.

Tell me something
You won't tell
Your readers, for once.

Please don't post it
Neither.

It's just you and me here
Me and you
No beacon of great words or beacon

Lead on by dead hands
Of un-Instagrammable

Morality.

What happens when it happens,
I often wonder.

Will there be a sound?
Or solely silence?

Will, we look on our elders,
Our parental paradigms
As bottle caps
Or finely written pages
Within a ledger,
Like novelties, we forget
As soon as I remember

Our parking is about to expire?

Eternities echo
Mark my words
Will be

Short-lived.

But really,
What can you do
When
There is futility in a rainbow?