I played my part well
until I opened my mouth that is.
                                    It always got me into trouble.
I'd cried on the inside so long
                                                  I was beginning to d
                                                               ­                        r
                                                             ­                            o
                                                               ­                              w
                                                               ­                                 n.

because we fell in love with the law
and fell out of love with ourselves.

because the ***** of great minds
wear pineapple fatigues in their fathers’ *******;

from Judas swallowing 9 bullets
to one day being a kid at heart
a symptom of some abnormality.

Ever get the feeling that you’ll die on a Tuesday?

Or one day wake up on their government bed
Screaming,
“you can blame the French Revolution
On silent reading!”

watching

as three teacups of *** plan war on the asphalt.

I used to search for
love and soft
words whispered in my
ear
and [brush the hair back
from my eyes]

for hands on hands
cold fingers entwined

dodging rain drops
with your arm over my head to
keep my fried hair
dry.

I used to search for
your gaze
eyes drilling a hole in
me
and [drill until I'm weak in
in the knees]

the laughter
the blush of the cheek

dodging judgment
with my hand in front of me to
keep my sensitivity
dry.

But now I do not search for

love.

I do not care at all.

I broke all the matches in the match box.
Hastily cracked them
in half.
I crowed at their
inability
to burn.
I threw the box down
and I laughed.

I broke all the matches in the match box.
When I realized
I needed
them most.
To light
the fire
that I let burn out
to obtain more than
your shivering
ghost.

I broke all the matches and the match box.
I hastily
collect every one.
and I try as
I can
(shaky cold
hands)
to put all the
splinters
back together again.

But I broke
all the
matches in
the match box

and I know
you won't
forgive me.
I know I'm a liar.
That I destroy fire.
our love has expired.
And i know
that

you won't forgive me.

I imagine drinking the
world up in one big
gulp
a swoosh of angst
and all of time would
fade away
diminish into
little hopes
and dreams.

Then I remember stars
and the blackest
blacks with
purple
flickering and
the
gold flecks
in your eyes

The sun!
a charcoal shadow
of a cave
beneath
the plateau where
you plucked a
yellow flower and
you pinned it in my
hair.

I'm too full to
the top
to drink anymore.

i hate the way that shapes
make shapes
and lines all
connect at
the end.

that i cannot separate
from you

that my end
eventually
meets your end

i hate the way that shapes
repeat all
the time and
connect in ways
that
make me
sick.

and miss you.

and ways that make me miss you

all the same
i hate the way that shapes can never end like you and me.

I miss that muddy creek
where we snuck under
the bridge, cut a
trail in the blackberries
(they always caught
my ankle, tore the
bottoms of my jeans)
where a rusty car
sat by the water
and I watched you catch
water skippers and
we talked about "the plan"
if a cougar came
from the hills for a
drink.
Where we abandoned
bull frogs and threw
rocks into the water.
Where Augusts last forever
and where we never parted
ways.
I miss you more than Deer Creek
and those rainless, summer days.

I saw a kettle of
hawks winging circles
in the sky

my eyes squinting
because the sun
is so intense
[after an overcast rain]

I haven't seen the sun since God knows when.
and
I haven't seen a hawk since I was home, again.

I saw three brown hawks
flying circles
in the sky

over hazy mountains,
blue, cold, hazy mountains
on the corridor of
I-5

and I took a breath with the
windows down
and shout out
my loudest sound,
face in the wind,
hair flying back
like a wing on the wind

and I remembered
Summer in the valley
with you and a
dandelion, barely brushed
by the breeze
and you

and the sound of a cow
no different than
the sound of your breath
no different than
the sound of your heart as
I leaned against you.

I never knew I loved
a kettle of hawks,
so,
in the sky.