I wish I loved a poet
so I could be immortalized in words
so stories about me could be written in verse
just once

I wish I loved a poet
so I could be an inspiration
just once

I wish I loved a poet
so I could be the writer
just once

I wish I loved a poet
so I could help them when they realize
that the world of dreams is just that

I wish I loved a poet
so I could teach them of reality
of the beauty and the pain and the mystery

I wish I loved a poet
so I could show them the stars
so I could teach them how to reach them

I wish I loved a poet
so we could watch the night
and wonder

just once

Its 1 o clock in the morning,
There's too many hours in the clicking
Of that old ceiling fan.
And if it fell out of its hole,
And hit me,
Would you send flowers?
I think of bumping into you,
Somewhere big.
So nobody notices the sobs,
From both of us.
You cry because my skin is
Ugly
And I cry because your eyes are
Tired.
I wonder (1:05, why can't I sleep?)
If your smile (it never stopped)
Would falter,
With my stories of pain.
(You never stopped smiling, but
Missing you is stopping time)
(1:05)
Click, click.
Maybe I'll write you a letter.
Maybe I'll send it.
(Its 3:30)
One more word on the paper.
Sorry, and it's slanted, floating off its line
Misplaced, like I,
Before sleep.

r.c.

H o r r o r stories
Are your eyes (clear, drained of color as you
Cry)
Roaming the words on my
Bone marrow.
Because they say
'You should have been here'
And
'**** you for leaving without goodbye'
And you're on the floor,
Laying in my weakness.
I bleed, you watch, I clean up,
You go.
Later, you are laughing.
The pain is gone from your eyes,
From your palms.
You have become the anger in my throat as I scream
'***** you!'
And you catch me by
My wrist
Before I slap
That pretty little face.
You are crying too,
But you pull me in as I thrash,
And tell me you're never leaving again.
But I wake up, wander to the room we
Were going to meet in.
Are you there?
Of. Course. Not.
One more story in my bone marrow book.

r.c.

you can
read my poetry
in the breaths i take to cry
short,
gasps.
you can
read my poetry,
as neurotically
as my nightmares on a hot summer night.
it is poetry,
not the national anthem.

r.c.

i will watch you fly,
like a migrating bird,
and i will pretend
that i didn't see a smile of relief
upon your face
or a new spark of freedom
in your eyes.

i will watch you soar,
like a roaring jet,
and i will pretend
that i didn't see the way you looked at him
or the downwards shift
in your disposition
when you realized that you were still mine.

i will watch you leap,
like a grown frog,
and i will pretend
that you are still a tadpole,
and always will be,
and will never leave.

i will watch you fly,
and i will pretend
that i have stopped loving you.

(a.m.)