I wish you'd develop and addiction to me
in the same way you're addicted
to your menthols.

what a wretched feeling,
being lost in my own skin
I find ways to stretch wrong
and all the kinks move to new places
places that weren't to be discovered

drowsy eyes fighting against light
my spine straining against might
I'm going to snap myself in two

if a cat has two realities:
poison or death
can he be blamed
for acting the pessimist?

She likes an archaeologist
cos he does it in the dirt

and the older she gets
the more he likes to flirt

She likes the way he smells
in a faded work shirt

hard and lean
but not mean
just a little bit assertive

He still let's her roll
her own cigarettes

and handles her gently
like a gold statuette

while they dance
with the shadows
down low

you know.

We still call the homeplace mom's
Calendar in the kitchen unchanged

Two years past
The old clock ticking

Branches tapping against a window
Iron Mountain through frozen rain

Like a silverback
White along the spine
Cold and silent

Strong against another winter.

r ~ 2/2/15

home in the mirror
appearing nearer

but i'm not driving
or even trying
to turn around

i'm burning down

bridges behind me
all I can see

over my shoulder
looking for closure

the colder and closer
i get to the sea.