You miss your home town,
your family and friends,
and all the places you used to know.

I'm homesick
for a lover's touch
and for eager lips.

i see the neutral colors,
they sing not of glory,
they brag not over history.

there is no mischief in their eyes;
nor any hostility for what they are not,
but they do speak,
through various petals of flowers
and many shapes of dream-making,
through my walls and bricks
of heart or cement.

on how many days, here,
did i bring thee the joy,
where upon i shall rest
in peace and auburn sunshine?

help me with no more promises,
but, bring me a man of truth.
i see not any relief
for my shattered self-belief.
i kiss my destiny and attempt
to move on a path underlined.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

for fifty
dollars
you
park
your car
inside
one
of these garages.
I drive and drive and drive, knowing
that I will not have a place
outside those garages.
I spent fifty
dollars
on a purple v-neck, orange crew cut
striped shirt and ten socks;
it was my birthday money.
I’m going to go inside
restart the laundry
so it will be warm.
My apartment complex has speed
bumps before each module
to slow the traffic
and as I go over one, looking
at a darkened figure standing
in the garage, taking
a plastic bag from their trunk—face obscured by darkness--
I realize what a crude portrait
humanity is.
Trapped on this prison
planet—what was our crime?
In that moment, bobbing head
I thought of love
and how unobtainable its object is;
then I realized
only people who pursue love
are capable of murderous rampage killings.
I thought about how safe my anonymous
neighbor
was
and how lucky someone would be
to know what saints walk among them.
I forget that my bright shirts were bought
to attract someone so
I could attempt to love.

It feels better to be falsely imprisoned
--to be a saint--
than to know ****** and love
are parked inside of you.
The dark figure takes out
whatever's stopping you.

The backyard is the smallest dead wheat field
Raccoons visit without fear

I come to leave food for my cats
Who I could not take with me
They already act like they don’t know me

I punch a hole in a wall
To make this place look more deserted

The giant broken window
The toilets filled with **** and bleach
Because the water stopped
The cigarettes in the driveway

I’ve never abandoned anything before

It feels like a place where bad memories come to pray
Like weeds finding life in deserted places

You make lists
Giving yourself reasons to come back
The bedroom fan
The screws for the bed frame
The beer in the fridge
To leave the cats food and fresh water

To pray in a church
By punching holes in walls till I uncover an answer

Outside
Raccoons are waiting
For the food to be left alone

I trace my fingertips across the car door
making designs in the dirt.
You yell at me,
but I can't hear you.

All I can hear is the
pounding of my heart.
The blood pumping through my body
echoes in my ears,
and your voice sounds distant.
What I imagine it sounds like after a bomb goes off to those
who were standing too close.

I stare at the the ground, the setting sun,
the neat circles of dirt on the tips of my fingers,
anywhere but at you.
Even though your looks are
bouncing off me like rubber bands,
even though your words sound
like they're going through a filter,
I can tell you are begging me to look at you.

Ears ringing, eyes stinging,
I slowly meet your gaze.
Now, I'm no lip reader,
but I could see the venom dripping
off your lips as you spoke.
There's no mistaking that foul, fricative-fronted phrase.

But I deserve it, I know.

You look as if you are about to say something else,
but you stop yourself with just a nanosecond to spare.
The words left your brain but
never made it to your tongue.

Instead, the thought manifested itself in silent tears
that dripped down your face.
Tracing my mistakes
across the the cheeks I used to caress,
down the neck I used to kiss,
toward the heart I didn't mean to break.