the ghost of you in this photograph
I see you now, I can almost feel
the motion of you passing through
both our bodies

There's a feeling you get
When there's nothing left
Nothing left that was yours
Yours and your mothers
Your brothers and two uncles
But it doesn't belong to any of you
Anymore

The shed wavers in the wind
The wood rotten and shaking with every
Breath that sweet Earth would blow
Handles of shovels are rusted inside
Cobwebs been drowned by now, not surprised
It's been a wet, wet winter
None of this ever was mine

You hung a basket out the window of your second floor bedroom
Tied to a rope with a bell
And you'd drop notes inside for your best friend to find
When she lived only right down the hill
Tell her you love her and miss her
And hope she'd come outside
Cause it would get lonely
In that house with bloodlines

781

To wait an Hour—is long—
If Love be just beyond—
To wait Eternity—is short—
If Love reward the end—

There will be a time when you need me,
But I'll already be gone.

Flesh may be a measure of mortality,
However these words cut deep.

They carve themselves into infinity,
Scribing the rise, ****** and fall.

Each piece is a violent declaration,
Against the tides of hate.

While I could not wade in the water,
The storm of truth rains down.

Falling victim to fate and telling times,
All exits are crafted by these hands.

If this appears to be
what it appears I see
then so be it.

Eyes like slits in a fortress
hair in a mess
a paunch?

must staunch the flow
go to the gym'
where fit people go

at present
and presently
fit for nothing is
what I can see or
so it appears to me.