I don't mind death, as long it
Comes under an open sky.

Crows and magpies go for the
Eyes first.

The dead need them the
Least.

Lack of life renders once living
Things more alien within

Walls. So
I don't mind death as long as it

Comes under an open sky.
Among trees, mountains,

Soil, and stones,
I'll surrender my

Eyes gladly to the
Birds.

Soft sounds of rain through
The open window. Each drop
Landing in wet grass is
A hammer to our hearts.

To feel alone is nothing new,
But I see myself through satelite
Images, afloat dead centering
The ocean,

Biting and clawing at the
Ropes that hold my raft
Together; too afraid of water
Not to drown.  

Silence like tanks rolling out
Of a devastated war zone.  
Let's wrap this up, and my
Pulse escalates to an emergency

Frequency open to recieve any
Mayday or SOS, but my hands
Are too numb to telegraph.
Instead I find myself wiping

Rain and sweat from my face
With mud covered fingers in the
Headlights of a parked car,
Digging a grave

The size of something dead that
Holds secret things, like Love's
True name, or God's, or
Those of my

Future children if ever they be,
Or the hidden meanings behind a
Brutally meaningless
Break-up.

As if in mild amusement at the way
I undermine myself and let my flaws
Cast shadows over my worth,
My neurons light up and give birth
To electricity that sprints through,
Weaving ideas, creating magic,
Shaking me up and lifting me high,
Bringing me face to face, eye to eye,
With the beautiful truth which sets me apart-
That my body is the house of art.

She moved since then,
But between where we got off
The tram, and her place,
There was a tiny place that sold
Sushi.

Walking through that smell,
Pavement still wet with rain
Outside,
We more often than not
Sent me back out

With her dog Shelby
To do her business. I  
Tied her to the
Street-thing outside, left
Tips and our pride with

The shop, and returned  
With a walk-content dog and
Too much sushi. She would
Have candles lit; Jeff Buckley
Playing,

Looking at Shelby and I as
If we had been gone for
******* ever as we came in.
"You hungry?"
She'd laugh, hug me, command

The dog to bed, me to sofa.
"Thank you."
We'd eat. Open a bottle from her
Impeccable stash.
I bought it. I brought it.

I never ate before her first bite.

Old. New. Borrowed. Blue.
I wrote to you about putting
Down my shield.
Opening up.
Still, wounded as I am;
When you speak of marriage
I run like the opposite
Of a Viking.

I have battles.
Fight better without worries
For a loved one awaiting my
Return.
Visit me when I'm wounded.
Bring water. I'll have new scars
For your lips to
Learn.

To never again pick her up at the
Train station.
"Look for that green dress you
Love. I'll be the one in it, loving
You."

To never again watch her
Frustrated and cursing the
Similarities between puzzle
Pieces, with Easter snow teasing
The windows behind her

Silhouette in my living room as
Belle spotifies Pieces
On my stereo and I just
Stare, smiling like an idiot until
My gaze burns a hole in her

Beautiful neck, and she turns
And giggles "what?"
Blushing and rubbing her cheeks
From smiling so much.
To never again.

The first flowers I gave her made
Her cry. As did the last ones.
I don't even know if she'll see
The card with these ones that
Says "thank you for each second

Together."
So romantic how we thought
Death by her cancer or my failing
Heart would end us.
No, the trivialities of Life

Saw our poem burned. Buried
Like some completely healthy
Pet put down prematurely.
I remember the mid 80's; dad
Drunk and unproud knocking

On the door to my room.
"I killed the kittens again.
Soon it'll be your turn."
Now I know why he always
Kicked at the cats.

He was kicking himself.
As do I.
Never again.
Train stations and green dresses
Will always hurt like

Hell, and people loving, and
Kittens, and puzzle pieces that
Look alike.
"Never again?" She asks.
I love her too much to lie.

When you're born out of a broken marriage,
You unwittingly become part of it,
No one asked you if you wanted to,
Yet you mediate,
As you grow, you participate,
You cease to be a child very soon,
You are the third spouse who entered
Way after the honeymoon,
You live with the everyday-fear of this
Arrangement falling apart,
You don't know why you're saving it,
Despite it being so toxic to all three minds and hearts,
But, as if you were born for just that purpose,
You strive for it everyday,
You take sides everyday,
Being a successful last straw
Is your daily pretend-play,
And suppressed resentment, your best friend,
Those born out of a broken marriage will know,
Having a loving father and a loving mother
Is not the same as having a family where
Everyone loves each other.

Looking at this world. If
You have burned even
One frozen pizza in your
Lifetime, every tear you ever
Spilled on your own
Behalf is
Sandbox.

The best place to hide a
Needle is still within a
Haystack. So we forget, and
Let our strings be pulled.
Love? A scratch scratched.
Now count grains.
Crusts uneaten.