Hope is eternal, well
I guess it would have to be
and so in the face of Nothing
Else it always flashes a
**** smile (says, "Put  on
your shoes! Let's go!")
Hope dressed up in
your very own cast off
clothes and you go
with him (of course
you do! because Hope
looks so familiar, almost
like you!)
Hope, my darling,
is in love with you
and only you and
only you can see it
in his eyes (forget
about all of that noise,
the banging around
of Regret inside)
Hope is a carpenter
knocking on wood
eyes and fists clenched
shut COUNT TO TEN
you knew you just knew
you would and when
faith gives way to
superstition you know
it must IT MUST be
good and everything else
should be just as it
should
Hope is eternal and
you've got it by the wings
your army of termites
your minions pining
and pinning all hope
on such fleeting
stings (knocking wood
from the inside out, of
all crazy things)
Hope, y'all, you've got it
in the bag, hope is just
yonder down the road
a piece
Hope, y'all, you carry it
like a bundle in the end
of a stick, hobo of your
heart and other abandoned
things
Hope is more like a stone
or a can you kick in front
of you, in front of you
all the way home (or
maybe past it, you
don't know these
things)

This dead thing
is really not my
thing, never fully
appreciating how
empty it would
be
This dead thing
all around and
inside of
me
(for example)
Who knew dust has
teeth and it gnaws
even at my pale thin
voice still banging
around the empty
rooms of
me?
I thought this dead
thing would simply
surround me, would
take my last breath
like a flower and
I would sink into
the dirt and no,
of course not,
why would it
hurt?
This dead thing
who knew how
capricious
it would be?
I bet you thought
it would at least be
reverent, like a man
holding his hat
a grey fedora
over his heart
as if to say not mine
no not this time but
I will look down
I will study the
ground, this dead
thing, passing
before
me

The worst part of being
left and half undone
is finding all of the
loose ends and
where was I
torn
(Me, ball of yarn
you, so many knitting
needles shoved in
one scar or another
and each time, indeed,
The inclination to pick up
where you left off pulled me
toward the worst and most
terrifying possibilities, a
nerve hanging by the thinnest
vein but I still yanked at it,
you see I would never
leave a job unfinished
even if the yanking of
the yarn undoes everything
one or the other of us
meant to finish
I've put too many hours
into this, gathering or
scattering, assembling
or finally tearing myself
to shreds
I've lost the meaning
or at the very least
shouldn't building
feel better than
destroying?
O what a hateful trench!
this could be, was for awhile
this life of mine then scattered
like each season, I expect nothing
more and less would be a blessing
I have lost the talent of
renewing myself and
never had the patience
to watch it come upon me
naturally so you see
The twelve year old
left half undone is still
waiting for me
Home. a word, not meant
for  that twig of a girl
Sometimes in a quiet rage
I imagine arriving home
disassembled as I am
(again, again, and again)
with my mouth made mute
by the layers of my dread
and so much packing tape-
I laugh to imagine a chorus
of folks intoning the word
Home and in all it's meaning

In the end I want to be
the worst most horrific
delivery ever landing on
your porch, no return address
because I have returned
with no intention of leaving
and even when I tell you to
handle me with care I doubt
you will recognize me
I've spent my life fancying
myself to be the kind of person
who would not ****** someone
like you but here's the problem
*******- no matter how well
I put myself together I always
end up back here, the ugly
part of you

When last I decided
to make an end of it
and gather the bits
the pieces that gave
meaning to all of this-
the blooms pressed
in between the pages
of meaningful verse
the letters that undid
each and every curse
When last I decided
to let go of this madness
I wondered how much
love I had in reserve
and how much I could
finally squander
To let go of loves won
and lost, to cash in
the sum total of my
idiocy
This is what will feather
my coffin, blessed, as I
am foisted into
eternity

SO THAT'S me, he says
in all my Glory, take me
or leave me, it's all the same
and he puffs himself up
to what he thinks is the
full measure of a quotable
Man
Wife picks up the pieces
as each word lands and
fits them into her pockets
and into her heart like
a set of keys
none
were meant
to free her but she's
learning piece by piece
this really rotten game
Life is as cavalier as a
cave man, he's studied
all the tricks of language
but doesn't know his wife
by her first name
Wife sweeps past him
on her broom, as defined
and definite as one long
blade) I'll meet you
There
my darling and before
he can ask where
She is as gone
as gone can be and
he should know
because Life
took her there
you see

I don't see
how else I could see you
from the top of your head
to the ends of your toes
knees swaying between us
you hold yourself quite
frozen in that pose (sad
to think you do this for me
while I would prefer you
to pull yourself together
at least to your full height)
I don't know
maybe I wouldn't even
recognize you, straight
in the face
(like that)

1569

The Clock strikes one that just struck two—
Some schism in the Sum—
A Vagabond for Genesis
Has wrecked the Pendulum—