My next-door neighbor
is building a rocket to the
moon.

He has been at it for weeks,
banging, buzzing,
waiting for that one song,
his song, on the radio.
He will wipe the sweat

from his face climb into
the hatch and start the countdown.
One day, he told me about his life.
Separated, paying six hundred

dollars in child support
and taxes a month. Thirty-three,
living in the room he grew up in.

One day soon.
He was going.

she had been
stabbing herself
with her own knife
until he took it from her

and right as she believed
that he was trying to help
he handed her a larger one
and said,
"here, try this one"

Dress up in your Sunday best like god hasn’t seen you at your worst

They told me to paint what I felt
So I left the canvas
Blank.

tonight i realized
that you do not entirely belong to me

and that the best days
really are the first to flee

Watching swings in the wind
swaying, ghostly
sadly empty
chains creak with no laughter to drown the sound
it carries like screams
of all the children
who pleaded
to never
ever
grow
up.