she never listened
to the sound of the waves

when you asked her if she could hear their beauty
she whispered

“no”

she was “listening to the sound of you breathing”
and regardless of whether anyone realized it

you never doubted her
even when she really, really wanted you to

you would play at night
your warmest notes soaking into the walls

but one day they grew frigid
chillin’ and killin’ your favorite villain

so now all she hears is the waves
and all you can hear is her whisper

“no”

carve the words
"right" and "left"
deep into your wooden wrists
backwards, if you want
just make sure you can feel them
so you can't forget
how many letters
went unopened
or how red the ink must have appeared
as it bathed the roots
of so many solitary trees

(there are your practice poems)
which we’ve all written
(there are your professional poems)
where we assume the accent of "the poet"
and then (there are your Real poems)
those where a woman can no longer speak to her mother
(and her mother isn’t dead yet)
and her husband stays by her side
(because their bond is that strong)
and that's how things end up
(how memories fail)
and we all get distracted
(from what really matters)
and then some child tries to make it right
(but fails, again)
like some inept diplomat
(and then gets distracted...

Bloom into the awkward moment between birth and death even though it can be tiresome. Aspirational iconoclasts are always minorities. The first real question should be “What the ****?" followed perhaps by a shaking of the head. Nurse on passive vitriol and slowly learn to fall in line. Pretend, for this is not the time. It will come but you must be patient. Ambulate with eyes cast downward like the others. The enemy is arrogant in its control; there is their weakness. Let them think that they possess great strength and go so far as to compliment them on it. Meanwhile, nurture the next breed of human. Let them try to fix you and act (as casually as possible) as though they have succeeded. Normality will fail in good time. Truth darkles; it militates against expectation. Embrace the hint of hate in the air by breathing deep. You need to fail to appreciate victory. The defeated night horizon will compliment your jaded eyes. Steal your own art with poise and without pause. Arrive late for the train and ride, tearing in the wind, clinging to its back. Yearn for a chaotic, vibrant death. Know that you were never, ever, alone.

All the best cover bands have leather jackets and aviators in play.
Feel the bodies burn.
Their polka dot calm pierces the noisy dark.
It slips between your lower ribs.
Trance hands in the air for shared emotion.
When the Sun dies out we'll light the world with disposable lighters.
We'll also flicker with emoticon implants.
Cold glitter on a dark planet.
Winky face.