I came back home last week, big greyhound bus and a backpack full of clothes. That bus rode in on Main Street, that old coffee shop was closed.
I walked across the park and stop by that old oak tree, the one where we carved our initials and climbed on - its still standing tall, our initials are hard to read but still able to see.
There were some kids playing tag and that tree was the safety base...if they only knew the things we did together up above or down below...I can still feel your embrace...
Its been such a long, long time since we walked hand in hand, do you remember?
Does it mean as much to you as it does to me?
Its a strange, strange story - how time just rumbles past us and we find ourselves alone despite the crowds of people.
Its a strange but comforting feeling knowing that the tree is still there. Sort of a confirmation that we did live the life I remember and its not just another story.
That we were together, long nights and my feelings are true and not some made up memory.
I find myself falling at times for the same old lines, the same old attractions, her scent, her voice, lips and touch...but then I remember that she is not you and its just a temporary glimpse into what can never be...
I came back home the other day but its not home anymore...my family is gone, moved on to another town in another city. Tom, Sue and Billy are gone as well to another town in another city.
I walked around and hoped that magically I would catch a glimpse of you again...but all I saw were the smoking ravages of a heart dragged on the road - skid marks of blood and love wasted...
Home is not home.
Home I have no home.
I am alone...sweaty air choking me and I dream of you holding me.
Home I have none.
Home is a place I call where I don't feel so scared and alone. With apron string love and the scent of something in the oven.
Got on the 11pm bus back to New York City...as we pulled away I saw that old oak tree and I could swear I saw you waving to me...

I told you every body left,
I told you every body gave up.
You assured me you wouldn't,
I believed you...
But It turns out I was right.

[for Ellie's book poem challenge]*

In last,
the brat
pointed
to the slate,
to the grid
chalked there.

"And then
he found a way out
of the maze!",
he said,

and as he spoke
he erased a line
in that last square.

He smiled,
toothless,
to his best friend:

now
both of them
had it wrong
but that cage
of loneliness
was open wide
- at last!

Is it wrong that I want him to myself? That I want to lock him in a caged like a rare bird that can fly as high as he wants to? I want him to only be mine. If it was up to me he would never leave my side because I love him. I won't let anyone touch him but me. He will never see the outside world unless I want him to. Hes so kind and warm hearted, lovable, friendly. As soon as I found him I knew what I was in for. I want him to see only me. I don't want anyone's paws to touch this delicate creature...

and we asked you for help
and you laughed at the candor
and we dropped dead like flies.

****** t-shirts falling from
clothing lines as clothing pins
litter the floor of the morgue

and parents pick out caskets
ten sizes too small, for dead
babies and children of the

night, the ones who had been hanging
from street lights and shooting stars,
who asked for help in the form

of loud music, slow dancing,
painting in dark colors, tying
red balloons to doorknobs,

and leaving home without layers.
these children, they’re wearing t-shirts
in late december and you’re

wondering why they’re shivering.
in the mean time, you turn your cheek
and lift the zipper of your fur coats.