I am lava
as it hits the sea,
hardened,
with my molten heart
a memory.

you can't know
who you really are
if you've never
been in a fist fight
last night John
let it slip
"I've never fought anyone"
I grinned, hands curled
feet placed
He tossed me about the balcony
my blows weak
I mean
he had 100 pounds on me
hook to the kidney
knee to my ribs
till we called quits
high fived
and
decided to fight
again

As the little timer
on my quit smoking clock
flips to 18 hours
I lazily roll a cigarette,
my quit smoking clock
doesn't know if I smoke,
I lean back, taking in
my whole life, squished
to fit this box
charms hang from the light
quivering as if anticipating
some unnatural occurrence
some lightning strike to
pierce through the ceiling,
a sign,
but none comes
so I walk out to light
this hand rolled cigarette
with a
sigh

carving your name
in wet cement
where it will dry
forever till
it gets ripped up
is a naive attempt
to remain
permanent

soles of feet
are but pads
to tamp the earth
hands but
tools to till
from birth to death
to whatever comes next
bodies but
vehicles
for brains,
once they disappear
we become
unchained

I miss having
a home
not a
house