the room i am staying in
carries the noticeable smell
of whiskey
it is nearly overwhelming
and the first time i walk in
i double over
unable to breathe
but over time
i become used to the cold floor
and the acrid smell
and the dusty windows
and over time
the only dishes used
are the glasses
which i fill with whiskey
and it seems far too soon
that i become the man in the room
the man passed out drunk on the floor
on the couch
on the bed
and it seems far too soon
when i become the man in the kitchen
staring out those dusty windows
drowning the day in liquor
drowning my day
it is not that i am sad
it is just that i have little to hope for
i am not like the rest of you
intelligent
or athletic
or handsome, even
and it seems far too soon
when i become the man lying in the casket
in the ground
eternally staring at the epitaph that
supposedly describes my life
cheerful
it tells a tale of the beauty of life
and now
lying in the grave
the only thing i find the time to care about
is the epitaph
what total ******* *******.

there are certain things that you need
and i am not one of them
and that hurts

Your mother was over here again.
Asking about me and you.
But the funny thing is,
She never knew about us;
Not that we were together,
Not that we broke up,
Not our history.

She was asking if I saw you.
If we were at the sam party.
Never knowing
What passed between us.
It wasn't the first time.
She's asked about us before,
Wanting to know if we were friends.

I sometimes wonder
Should I tell her?
But then I think about us
And all that happend
And I think, Better not.
Your mother was over here again
Asking about me and you.
I didn't know what to say.

How do you explain

to your children that the

horrors of the world are real?

How will I tell my son, We

found a place you can call home but

your bus might not make it to school.

Do not look too Jewish in this part of town

Do not play in the train station

Do not get used

to the weight

of a machine gun.

Or look my

daughter in the eye and say, someday

you might say “no” and someone stronger than you might

not listen

You will not tell me

Know that this happens a lot

Know that your wrists pinned against a

backboard will

echo in the way you move your hands

for as long as you let it

But

human hands aren’t as heavy as metal shackles

And I’m so sorry

but I won’t be able to

take the weight for you

You’ll wake up in the morning

That I can promise you

You’ll wake up

and your lungs will fill with air

whether you tell them to or not.

One day

I will hold someone

small, with my face

and they’ll cry and I’ll say,

*I know.

I know you’re tied with little yarn strings to the last life

I know it hurts to be here and

(honestly)

you’re never going back

But

the older you get the less you’ll remember

what it was like

before you had a body

when you were made of ash and infinite light

You’ll convince yourself you live here and

that your hands are you,

But remember that once you were boundless

Inside my body, without yours.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Your lips
Were the first thing I noticed
Gently parted
Breathing in and out

Oh to be your words
Conceived within your mind
Born upon your lips

Poetry.

Your lips are ******* poetry.

And no matter how many times
the petals tell you they love you
you have to forget,
Because sometimes they love you not.
So here's to you,
the boy who didn't know how to love me.
I'm letting go,
letting go of the distance
and the silence
and the waiting
and the empty hours
and the vacancy
and the walls I've built
**it's over.