You call all the girls you mess around with "sunshine,"
but none of them light your dark spaces,
your loneliest places.

I'm there at one in the afternoon
with you and your flat tire
and then at three in the morning
with you and your ******
"i love her's,"
your groggy, slurred words
about a girl from the bar
who you won't remember
and you thank me in the morning
when I bring you water
and all you ever call me
is a friend

1698

’Tis easier to pity those when dead
That which pity previous
Would have saved—
A Tragedy enacted
Secures Applause
That Tragedy enacting
Too seldom does.

i'm gone to the store for some bread she said
with her suitcase in her hand

And so
I let love
place it's knife
to my throat
and
bleed me
until
my veins
ran dry.

If some day
I should pass you
clothed in shades
of pale pastel

all I ask
is turn your face
from my failing
sense of taste...