Let's pretend I can read your mind.

What kind of words would you not say,
     whose name would you hide?

What places would you flee, in dismay,
or wish to caribbean-cruise to?

If I could hear your love,
what would it tell me
     that I do not already know?
What kind of fantasies would whisper?
Will your fears be softly moaned,
or scream loudly to be let go?

Let's pretend you knew I could
hear deeper all your silences,

     how many flatteries, there, would echo
like broken vinyl,
a skipping heartbeat, a flat tire... (blown)

Would you still lie, if you knew--that I knew,
still believe them?
Still make me believe you?
(never telling the truth)

Let's say you could
hear my thoughts...

Would you condemn me and herald my secrets?
Command me for your work
     make me a lackey
     or say I'm crazy
to everybody a nobody...?

If you could see through me
or feel my worst hurts,
would you understand \why and how
my heart should burst?

And of course, this is all make believe,
imagination at it's height,
     but true life is another sort
     of story

from our minds' eyes
to witness
to be told :  be realized.

And every tale has once come true:
man now
     flying, cloning,
          in rockets to the moon,

I'm sure my fiction will be
written soon
if not already in that book...

what kind of mood
He must of had when craving
King & Koontz
the idea of me...
           (and god knows who?)

scratching chin
his beard of white
in a bowl of crocodile tears,

playing pretend,
and silent night
with our living years...

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

To yearn for comfort
In your grievous heart,
Blighted by traumas
Which tore it apart,

You aim to consult
These friends from afar,
Not realizing
They won't mend these scars

If they're miles away
From the very source
Of these ghastly wounds
Causing the discourse

Amidst those that claim
To offer support,
Yet witness your pain,
But give help of no sort.

You're left all alone,
Not a soul nearby
To muffle your moans
Or soften your cries.

Your heart's turned to stone,
Though love's what you sought.
There's ice in your bones;
Your soul's left to rot.

Darkness covered the skies,
While my body was restless with the tides.
I tried not to wait for the sunrise,
Because, it just reminded me of your eyes.

I remember holding you in my arms,
While surrendering to the stars,
Hoping to never fall apart.

The touch of your hand with mine,
The smell of Calvin Klein,
The taste of cherry wine,
Intoxicating me inside.

I didn't see this in cards,
Or the rolling dice in our hearts.

I imagined a future,
With the definition of forever.

But, now I see-
We were never meant to be.

When tomorrow comes,
Without the taste of ***,
We will find someone.

Now it is time for me to go,
And leave this pain for the runaways-
So, Goodbye, my Summer's Day!

the rain beats endlessly
upon the ears
it snakes it's way inside this house
wrapping itself around the grief
and drenches us with sadness
the Sun resides in a far off place
where smiles await
where joy finds refuge
in time
the storm will remain here
will darken these rooms
and blur the days ahead
what light finds it's way
will only serve to cast shadows
i will understand her grief
i will wait beside her for the cloud to unwrap itself
for she is her father's daughter
and i know so well
this storm

I’d never met Mr. Campbell
Or heard of Mr. Stone,
But now I’ve ceased to ramble,
They’ve provided me a home.
A place for old and older,
Not poor or broke nor rich.
For meek and mild and bolder,
It runs without a hitch.

A bus to take us shopping
Or cruising to the mall,
And even island hopping
There’s something for us all.
Pat Pepper keeps us busy,
Not anchored to a chair
Al Widener’s in a tizzy
If we’re not happy there.

The staff is neat and clever
At Bradshaw’s restaurant
I plan to stay forever,
‘Cause it’s my favorite haunt.
No need to roam or gamble
For we are not alone,
God bless you Mr. Campbell
God keep you Mr. Stone