Last knock at seven pm,
if I'm taking too long just tell me when.

Holy honey that melts in your mouth,
you'll only find that kind down south.

Tongue in my cheek, lungs filled with the view,
I've been talking to blurred visions of you.

And I'm stuck with the ugliest luck.
And I could fall...

but then I feel your grip tighten up.

I wish I knew what went wrong.
If there could be a switch-
if I could hit it-
turn everything upside down.
Shake the rain from my sandals,
if you light a candle
I can handle the rest!

See I thought it was me
but it's the world that's
been spinnin' around

and around

and around

and around.

once upon a time,
you asked me to tell you stories.
they never made sense but they made you laugh
but when it was your turn you'd shrug and look at the floor.
you can't weave fiction, you're too
cerebral,
ive always been the creative one.
now im stuffing your essays in the space between my ribs
and pretending thats enough.
youve always been more politics than poetry -
you hate poetry.
but you always came when i performed
(said my poems were the only ones you could stand.
said the others were static noise)
youre miles away, youre chasing cemeteries and im chasing you.
ive always been more
successful,
youve always been kinder.
when i cry you speak softly and i scream.
when you cry i laugh and you
go quiet
and i feel sick.
you still believe in duty and honor and
honest politicians
though i tried to convince you that everyone lies,
just like you.
i took you outside at night and taught you the only constellation i know,
told you about
desperate boys and girls like mountains,
and redwood forests at three a.m.
and blew smoke in your face.
now its your turn.
tell me a story.
tell me how they broke you to bits and built you up again.
tell me how youre afraid to die.
tell me how ive hurt you and youll never trust me quite the same again.
tell me about your favorite book
again,
describe the dragon so vivid my own monsters seem like broken dolls.
i'll offer you a drink and you'll refuse.
(i'm so sorry that you're gentle
and i'm cruel.
i'm sorry for treating you sweet then snapping your wrist.
come back.
this time i'll be kind.
this time i'll listen.)

Sometimes I go back
To summer days in the fields of time
Evergreen dreams casting shadows on the dirt
Echo’s of voices with charming rhyme

Doors that close behind my back
And windows open to see the sky
Engines rolling across grey tarmac
My hopes answer when I ask them why

Sheets of paper folded to fit your name
Grass brushing the soles of our feet
Unknown strangers line the paths we tread
Take us back to the day we met

Starting to fret at the suns shallow streams
Falling out of the sky into restless night
I only see you now in my dreams
That take on forms of passion so light

Come back to me one Sunday afternoon
And I’ll show you all the secrets kept
Behind my eyes and the far side of the moon
Are the memories of you over which I wept

Trapped in the butterflies beating wing
         Left in an ocean unable to swim
                Caged in a living cell,
                 bored and mundane  
Where every day reads the same
         And every night I lose my name,
                  then lose again.