Please
Let me slip away
Without a fuss

Don't keep asking me
What 'fine' means
Don't ask me to stay
Or come

Please
Let me slip away
Without a fuss

Let it be okay
When I say
'I want to be on my own
Today'
Don't make
Decisions for me
I'm not too sad
Too be alone

Please
Let me slip away
Without a fuss

I don't want to tell you
What I mean by being
Empty
I don't want to have to lie
And tell  you that nothing is wrong

Please
Let me slip away
Without a fuss

You need to fight for the
Right girl to stay
But it's not me

Please
Let me
Slip away

I am running out of excuses
Of why I want to be alone

She rolls the paper
with a kind of ease:
like a silk dress falling
on the eve of her skin;

or the delicate sips
taken from her glass,
delicately held between
curled spread fingers.

Then maybe as tongue
presses to the lining,
it looks as though
rice-paper become lips

her kisses sealing
this tube filament
mantled in her smile,
lighting up the room.

Upon the stale wind, her body flails again
I came walking through the field
to learn about compassion
She was blonde and the last heart in town
The moon bathed her from within
What a loveless dream from that tree
touching God's skin.

Her feet above my head, painted in mud and above the sugarcane
And if I didn't love her so, I'd be able to walk from this pain
But I recall her warm breath the last time we kissed
The air tasted of a broken soul that I failed to fix

Blood under her nails, scratching freedom too slow
If she was yelling for my name, then I'd rather not know
It might as well been me who hung her above the stars
I did not give her enough of me and it will haunt me for years

After the end
she wore the beige bra that she bought for him
because he liked plain things  
under a dark turtleneck that meant she was mourning
their loss even if maybe he wasn't

she shivered into the street
and watched the palm drop on the moon,
the stars pop out like street lights whose bulbs you couldn't change,
their high up light bleached the night,
falling over the Prius, bouncing off the half-bumpered Honda, sliding down the metal window connector of the neighborhood's only El Dorado before ending up on pavement like most things do
the garage seemed to radiate and
other people's windows glowed yellow

as she turned to go
a cat rolled across the four lane road
like it was a meadow

Remov'd, affection horn . . .
heavy flood of tears flowing--
blood emotional's gushing
out from a heart broken.

I am a nervous poet; sleep with my pen under my pillow.
All my sheets are white. And that's despite the fact that

I sleep with all my verbs on.

I've had friends that were good who were poets that are dead,
And the poem always got them in their sleep.

I rhyme with one eye open. I give birth in my sleep like a bear
To cubs that have left their crap on the notepad in the morning.

All over it; like letters from one poet to another -a thankful thing
Since poets say nice things nicer than non-poets; and even insult with

Slightly more finesse.

But it always gets you in the end, the poem. It gets you with the
Caps Lock, and you can see the Head of the Title, and then...

I'm a nervous poet; sleep with my pen under my pillow.
I traded it for a *****.

I'll dig with it.