The nuts
and the bolts
of your automatic habits
programmed scowls and slowing reflexes
               keep you
     matching wits with no one
               every night.
             And you keep
slipping
     back into your 6-month rut
     with your cold sneer,
      hands in pockets,
      your shrinking bank account
           and swelling gut...

The Mountain Lines meander,
you're just killing time and brain cells.
Ashy days are tasting bland.
Bus routes circle back on themselves
          like your footsteps every ******* night,
          this town will raise its hand,
          you'll retreat into familiar flight.

                                                      Cr­inge
                                       'cuz it's so easy.
                                                       Cringe
                     at what you have become.
     Come back on your loop repeating.
                                 Potential's mocked.
       You're numb and deaf and dumb.

And you've never surrendered.
But that's not the same as winning.
Pinning hopes on snapping out
of it and sleeping hearts on sleeves.
          Heavy footsteps every ******* night,
          a walking metronome
          passing cross-streets just to pass the time.

Your dull,
aching eyes
that you peer through every sunset--
programmed scowls squinting through preset acts--
               keep your
       dulling wits all silent
              every night.
           And you'll keep
walking through days like turnstile gates
and send each night on down the line.

Send each night on down the line.

You were leaving
     with the first of the Springtime thaw.
I glued my feet and
     now I'm stuck and you know that's all
               we ever found
          we knew how to do--
was just say fake "goodbyes,"
practice "I'll miss you's!"

We can sleep through our dreams
or die standing up
on the paths of same footprints'
           same old sidewalks.
But the equinox came and you went nowhere
                        quick.
Sick of saying, "It's fine here..."
                        Think
                    I'm just sick
'cuz the healthiest ones hated us
       and now they're all gone...

               ...I guess that's just luck.
                           Dumb luck.

I was leaving
     we both knew that I wouldn't get far
before retreating
     to you and to this asphalt
               I've always walked.
               We always knew how
to just fake fake "You're fine's."
Swallow fermented growls.

We'll just sleep through these dreams
of packing our stuff.
Write our hopes on punched tickets--
           can't afford the bus.
When the equinox comes and we're still here--No
                              ****?--
We'll be convinced it's good here.
                         Think
                  we're just sick.
'Cuz the healthiest ones hated us
        and now they're all gone...

               ...I guess that's just luck.
                           Dumb luck.

Stick together, squeeze the time in
with the snow falling down.
Do what we'd never get away with
when the Summer comes around,
       When the cops patrol the streets
              that the city won't plow

               ...I guess that's just luck.
                           Dumb luck.

Goodnight, pretty cannibal!
It's been fun, I guess.
Beats being alone.
It's gotten late and I suppose
     I'll talk to you in the morning.

I mashed up every sad complaint,
playback on loop;
a bad mixtape.
You fell for it, but can't complain
     'cuz we've settled on each other.

Throw me out a lifeline,
               find
a bracket--you could tie it off.
And, maybe once in my dumb life,
I can pull myself to the shore.

I keep pinning all my hopes
on losing
bets
but I won't bother
giving you the benefit
when I doubt my own luck.

I have wasted time on wasted lies
but you don't care.
And we've not wasted tonight
               so let's just say...

You'll talk to me in the morning.

We're two pretty cannibals.
We had our fill
then spit out bones.
The day is here and now I know
     you probably should be leaving.

We played through every easy stage.
Continues gone,
so that's the game.
You're over it; I won't complain
     'cuz we knew that this would happen.

But throw me out a lifeline,
               find
a bracket--you could tie it off.
And, maybe once in my dumb life,
I can pull myself to the shore...

You keep rolling up snake eyes
on losers,
jerks
and creeps like me.
But still you saw some benefit--
thought why not try our luck?

I am wasted time, you're wasting minutes,
but who cares?
And we didn't waste tonight
               so let's just say...

I'll talk to you in the morning...

When I know you should be leaving...

Buzzing drinks, this purple sky
shrink around the orange street lights.
You told me once, it might be nice
          to know what the look
          of a winning hand looked like.

Cliched sighs were my reply.
Kept me from at least two lies.
Lines of Alaise, I'm swinging blind.
I'll play your best cue as it lies.

               Sing something sweet to me
               Raise your brown eyes to meet our city.
               My blue ones always sink;
               when the chorus kicks in
                    you look so pretty.

               I know you're not right for me.
               And, baby, I'm no good for anybody.
               But at least we share some needs
and the midnight view from the bridge on Orange Steet.

Stumbling steps and shaky laughs
and creasing lines in clasping hands.
I told you once I'd take a chance
          to see the sly curve
          of your wine-soaked shy glance

Buzzing signs, citrus street lights
Let's fall in love with urban blight.
Our voices loud, we're walking blind.
So here's my best play, one last time.

               Sing something sweet to me.
               Close my blue eyes--I love this city.
               Your brown eyes sing to me.
               We're the chorus now, babe--
                    you're bright, but I'm witty.

               Know it's been a ******* week.
               And I know I'm no good for anybody.
               But let's still our shaking knees
    and kiss a new year on the bridge on Orange Street.

Ticking off the time
while the ticks and the flies
creep and crawl across my face,
burrow into my eyes.
And I think my swarming friends
               are feeling hungry tonight.
So I guess it's only etiquette
for me to oblige.

When the fiddler's tune
starts to slow down and waver,
I cling tightly to youth.
But I ain't getting no braver.
And the steps to this dance
still feel foreign to me,
even if I know the words like a fish does
               the stream.

Now this empty dance hall
is quickly filling up
               with ghosts wearing tap shoes;
guess this jig is up. My cup runneth over
with tired clichés. And I'm knee deep in *******
               but I ain't afraid.
          Not afraid to be alone
          not afraid to be alive.
          Never been scared to die
             or to ignore signs.

But I must be

scared of something...

Sunlight so bright
think I'm halfway blind.
Squinting through the days and
sacrificing all sight.
I'm still hanging with the bugs
               while they scratch and they buzz
before I finally pinpoint just
what I have become.

Lay it down, black it out
while water sinks into ground.
Break it up, break me out
and we'll drive into town,
alright?

You just left on a jet plane,
now the boys are back in town.
I've come down with a sickness,
but they still want me around.
          I don't wanna leave my couch
          and I don't wanna go downtown.
'Cuz without your face, this place is just overplayed.
Just wanna turn the volume all the way down.

I've been wandering old streets,
seeing all the oldest faces
in the places where we'd meet.
When they ask about you, I can't face them.

Now I've looped around this town
about a million ******* times.
Old group's predictable. Those clowns
still have the time of their life.

You're off to better things.
Hope Sacramento's ******* awesome.
Your absence here still stings,
and the radio here's still just awful.

I'm still hooked on old feelings
I was born to not outrun.
I wish I could stop believing
that the past was just more fun.
          I don't Journey off my couch.
         And I'm a Foreigner downtown.
Now I'm broadcasting doubt and my town is played out.
          I wanna drown the volume out.

I've been haunting same old bars,
seeing all the same old comrades,
between same sidewalks and same stars.
They never left and that makes me feel bad.

Now you've been gone 6 months,
and you might never come back.
If I hear "Sweet Home Alabama"
one more time, I'll ******* crack.

You're off to better things.
Hope Sacramento's ******* awesome.
Your absence here still stings.
And the radio's still ******* awful.

Cold nights
               It's always Winter here.
It seems this season's stretching on all year.
               The beers are gone
               so let's get walking.
                           Grab
    your coat and let's do some talking.
Loud, through the night.
Know our strides will crunch through old snow
beneath old street signs.

                                              Best
      ­                                   bets aside,
                                    did you gamble
                                       on my days?
                               Did I waste your time?

Days come early,
nailguns out.
Walls go up and ambitions drown.
4 blocks down the street, you're screaming,
"**** the cold and this town. I'm leaving."
                     Sheetrock walls
               and paycheck borders
                     keep us pinned,
                in line, on short order.
                              Cook
                    our­ melting brains.
                        Froze in place
and broke your heart, rinsed me down the drain.

Cold nights
               It's always Winter here.
This frigid season's stretching on all year.
               The beers are gone
               so let's get walking.
                           Grab
    your coat 'cuz them ghosts been talking.
Howling each day.
Haunting all our snowbound steps and
rattling their chains.


                                          Alarms and cars
                                        and pulsing hearts.
                                               Cheapest
                                        prices paid to make
                                                our wage.

                                         The clocks in bars
                                       count tarnished stars.
                                                 Cheapest
                                         prices paid to pave
                                                 our ways.


                                              Best
      ­                                   bets aside,
                                    did you gamble
                                       on my days?
                               Did I waste your time?


Days come early,
nailguns out.
Walls go up and ambitions drown.
2 blocks down the Ave., I'm shouting,
"**** the wind and the snow that's pounding."
                     Rent check walls
               and sheetrock borders
                     keep us pinned,
                in line, on short order.
                              Cook
                    our­ melting brains.
                        Froze in place
and broke my will, rinsed you down the drain.

                                            And I'll move

                                                4 blocks

                                              next Spring...

These punchlines unraveled on an Autumn morning.
My breath and my tension devoured the edges
of yellowed and dog-eared, trusted old pages.
This map's projections embracing me now.
Holding so tight. Pinned me down to the ground
described on the pages regurgitated.
                    Pin me tight to this town.
A flightless bird--I'm a rooster
                     bolted to your roofing;
follow each wind, but I'm never moving.
My phone woke me up on a cold Winter morning.
My uncle had died and they cancelled my flight.
It was only just me that missed out on his funeral.
And it's only just me singing "Midsummer Classic"
alone in this quiet and darkened apartment
                    "...Blue & Gold /
                    our city casts its shadow..." (Sundowner)
No albatross I, but a bird without flight all the same.

Take my hand,
we'll fuse our last
                    few folding dollars together,
and we'll walk our snowbound streets
               and try to fend off the cold.
Find a place that's too familiar,
shivering hands on the door.
               Halfway laughing.
                   Half a cough
     as we protest we're still not old.

Break the skin,
I'll break the silence.
               Sigh
and watch our breaths ascend
          the frigid night.
Tell me, "Show me something beautiful
                    or let me leave the light."

Now, fill me up. Just sing that tune.
Two songs of piling rust.
                    I love
          the way you croon.
I'm just a walking ghost.
But what does that make you?
           Red-faced or blue?
           Two-faced or true?
               Do you stay?
             Or cry, "Adieu!"?

Strike the band,
they'll play the last
                    few notes of that "Civil Twilight."
and we'll speak our foolproof plans
               and try to forget the cold.
'Til you say, "That's too familiar."
Make your way to the door.
               Half a laugh.
             caught in throat
    I hope they'll draw out that last note.

Break the skin,
you **** the silence,
                    laugh-
-ing with descending face
               and frozen eyes,
saying, "Show me something beautiful
                  and let me leave the light."

You've been out here in the wind awhile.
Now, I don't mind the snow.
But I'll lick my chapping lips and ask,
     you if you're feeling cold.

It's all been tacks and eggshells
since the Summer hung its hat;
October laughed, we shrugged our shoulders,
                                                      ­  covered miles,
but still we left the biggest thoughts unasked.

               Clutch your coat
                     and walk
          another snow-clad block
                      with me--
              We're almost back.

                          Fight
                  these doldrums
                            off
                       with me,
                          invite
                 the snowflakes in
                 my open doorway
                  closing off night.
                    **** the cold,
                  'cuz we're all in.

                    Leaking away
        'til night gives way to the day.
     Until the Springtime thaw rolls in.

I've been frozen in my tracks so long,
the ice hangs from my chin.
I still dangle on each laughed-out word
      that you toss in the wind.

You say you're sick of shivering--
sick and tired of last year's coat.
"It's all old hat, but it's familiar..."
                                  sketch a smile
across my face, melt snowballs in my throat.

                 Grab my arm
                     and leap
               that final icy step
                      with me--
              We're nearly home.

Maybe we were never
gonna be a thing but cold.
But I still like the way you hold
your shoulders when you laugh.
Maybe we can never grow up,
     just keep getting old...
Stick with me tonight, I swear
we'll warm this place by half.

                          Fight
                  these doldrums
                            off
                       with me,
                          invite
                 the snowflakes in
                 to our bleary eyes
               swelled full of night.
                    Out of reasons,
                      we're all in.

                     Leaking away
        'til night gives way to the day.
     Until the Springtime thaw rolls in.

Dive past the splash page,
let's melt with the inkstains.
It's Autumn, the heat fades.
               The tale
          is unfolding fast

Now turn past the last page
of last time. We'll retrace
the panels, their contents
               you cried.
          But was it canon?

               Play this night here
                         as it lays.
               Place bets on you--
          we've both debts unpaid.
       Wasted time to redeem today
                       And I'd say...
               We're onto something.

                         Knock-
                                    -ing
                 ­         Rust
                             off iron hearts
                         to rewrite our days.

                      
I've got a feeling--
Let hopes ride; no sure thing.
The voices from downtown,
               they blend--
          a thousand songs sung.

The wind and the trees whisper,
"Encapsulate this
moment. It's flawless."
               It's art.
          And I'm past falling.

               Play this night here
                         as it lays.
                  My bet's on you--
          we've both debts unpaid.
       Wasted time to redeem today
                       And I'd say...
               We're onto something.

                 Read the writings
                       on the page.
                 The story's drawn
                and the panels laid.
       Waste no ink on departed shades,
                       as they say.
               We're onto something.

                           Knock-
                                    -ing
                 ­         Rust
                             off iron hearts
                         to rewrite our days.

Blue screen
behind a snowy blur
          Blizzard outside
        cold silence in here.
Forgot
the weight of syllables
          On channel 2,
  I'm disconnected and numb.

               With all the eloquence
               of a bitter, frozen smile,
          Let me draw a map
                          with mismatched memories
               With all the subtlety
             of a fumbled operation.
          Let me trace the tale
                     down unstitched avenues.

This year
I'll try for something like real feeling.
Ghoulish nostalgia's only eating me alive.
And if I could only take my lumps and leave 'em...

...leave 'em far behind,
I might start moving on.
               Onto something
                       current,
               something warmer
                 that's enduring.

Let me try to trace my tale
down these unstitched avenues.

And I'll get back to you.

It's like coming back to an empty room,
filling blanks with my mind
while I look for you.
It's the half-life
of my memories
that betrays me now as I replay through each scene.

Holding the bag
    of fast fading photos
and stumbling home alone past windows
that could've been ours.
Now I can't remember
my getaway plan.
That year's November
     dropped me into cold;
arrested breaths

               sold me out
     3 years, still scared to death...

...that the time'll prove you right,
that no indictment ever left a man so blind.
I'll sit in the dark, then lie on the floor.
But Justice can see you've gone so
               far on your own way
               and that's just fine.

When this empty room echoes,
that sound is mine.

Trip through the doorway in domestic dark
in this sick span of space
where it echoes stark.
And it sounds wrong
to my puzzled ears.
Nothing fits in this vacant place without you here.

What good's a home
     when it's all ghosts and regrets
and one lonely soul resisting egress?
These fumbling hours
spent searching for landmarks
that used to be here,
can't find them so far.
     dropping into slow
arrested breaths

               Won't go out
     3 years, still scared to death...

...that my memory's decayed
that the best of me invested got mislaid.
I'll sit in this room, in the thick, empty dark.
And, now, I can see you've gone so
               far on your own way
               and that's just fine.

Now the silence here echoes;
I'm losing time.

Are you a wheel
just spinning through your cycles?
          You rolled around;
          my turn today?
Or are you the red-gold autumn moon
          that I howl at?
Am I just a passing phase?

'Cause I've
               been around a while
and I
               can't style up these hours
into any kind of impressive *******
          story that could explain.

Guess I'm an ash-
tray, guts filled up with cinders
               grey faced
     and fouling the atmosphere.
And I guess I'm addicted to this
          upheaval
and a devil's voice in my ears.

Are you a picker
filling up your basket
          chewing up cores
          thrown to one side?
Or are you the grey-green hungry worm
          crawling, curving
through the apples of my eyes?

'Cause I've
               been here so long.
And I
               can't dress up this time
in any kind of inventive falsehood
               or story that would explain.

The last rays of sunlight were purple
on the day the last fat cat died.
     From the street corners
     we saw them chasing
               their tails,
                        bailing water
          that was rising high.

                    It could never
                      last forever,
               whatever they said--
        --Could we ever have prepared
                     for that Fall?
                Call the Springtime.
          No Rewind of Our Discontent.
                  Meant to seize this
          while their machines stalled.

Look alive. Stay with me...

I wanna be there
          when the missiles drop.
Wanna be there when the pavement cracks
and scoop up the last embers of this city
          while you hold my hand.
I wanna be there
          when illusions fail.
Wanna be there when their smirks turn sour.
When the last of all the fat cats starves.
When they see the passing of their hour.

Look alive. Stay with me...

The last rays of sunlight were splitting
off Their glass towers' cracking panes.
     From the bus stops we
     saw them--their faces
               went grey,
                        flailing Dollars
          could not pad their pains.

                     It could never
                      hold forever,
               this Center they bought.
             But they never did prepare
                        for the end.
                Call the Springtime.
          No Rewind of Our Discontent.
                  Meant to shout it
               but the message sent.

Look alive. Stay with me...

I wanna be there
          when the pavement cracks.
Wanna be there when logistics fail.
And two-step on the cinders of this **** heap
           while the masters wail.
I wanna be there
           when their money burns.
Wanna be there when their neckties squeeze.
When the last of all their bonds will merge
When the fat cats die upon their knees.

Wanna be there when the missiles drop
And scoop up the last embers of this city
               while you hold my hand.

                         Look alive...

A blanket
A covered stretch of ground to cross in due time
A blank face
A blank slate
An empty head tonight moves across this white space

I've crunched through snow and Summer
                                                          ­    both.
Fused years, found friends and let dead ones go.
This axe to grind has grown dull, I know--
                    and cumbersome
                on ground yet to cover.
As days splice fibers into 12 month rope,
Hang this warm hat on one thing I know:
                      that I've still got
                   ground left to cover.

Slow breathing
breath steaming off into dioxide cold night
It drifts towards
the moonlight,
ghost of a laugh escapes, leaks into the night sky

A half hour
A half-smile stretching through my creasing face now
I laughed when
you sang me
Chantilly Lace as we walked across that cold town

I've weathered snow and rainstorms
                                                     both.
Fused years, found friends and let dead ones go.
This frown of mine has grown dumb and old
                    and cumbersome
                on ground yet to cover.
As days splice fibers into 12 month rope,
hang memories on one thing I know:
                    that I've still got
                 ground left to cover.

               The rivers,
                               like parks and roads,
          stitch places to times to sew us homes.
  These year-long cords stretch between our doors
            across all this ground yet to cover.
              
               Their names are
                            a cascading brine
        "Red," "Big Goose, "Clark Fork," "Assiniboine."
   The years flow homeward, my pride erodes--
              silt layer on ground left to cover.

The night is cold. November tends to be.
I tend to burn out quick.
Those talks all sound the same to me.
They tend to make me sick.
So I spit up a few fake goodbyes
and glide through doorways, out of sight
               to find
I've got a bag to grip again.

These sips don't go down easily,
like back when we were kids
spending neon nights together
and pretending to shed skins.
               No,
they hit like bitter fists now;
no new memories, just bruised skin.
          Once again--

   it aches after they leave.

And all the ways they always find
to always leave you far behind
will never fade from memory
no matter how far your way winds.
The faces change, but not the times.
               They've gone.

          Again, you circle back.

The walk home's cold like two-thousand-and-twelve,
when I fled from myself--
from ghost of future Christmas me,
past "CLOSED" signs, beneath bells
in the churchyard. Wanna ring my neck?
'Cuz--cuss me, Father--I am wrecked.
               And I
can feel them sneer on the way out.

These sips won't stay down easily,
like when you were a kid.
Tonight, they tasted bitter.
Bitter wind chews wrinkling skin.
                 With
the feeling rising fast now
through your guts: they're not your friends.
               Once again,

      it burns when you exhale.

And all the ways the always found--
deflate, un-name you, pitch you out--
will always chase you doggedly,
however deep you dig you down
into the ******* frozen ground.
               You know...

   And they know that you do.

I think I'm fine with
          kickin' over church pews
desperate to find where my rituals hide.
Ghost stories never taught me nothin' but runnin'
               and hidin'--
          Tonight they'll be exorcised.

By the end of this year,
I hope they won't recognize me;
all free and clear
from old, sour misfires.
Tired of sad sermons I been tellin' myself
so I'll shelve 'em and try to let myself debride.

I think I'm fine with
          forgetting the words
to this tired parable I've spent too much time with.
Ghost stories never teach ya nothin' but runnin'
               and hidin'--
          from yourself and your best lived life.

Wanna drink in the park,
But the ******* mosquitos...
Eaten alive and I can't stand the heat
                        so
I turn down the bed
and I wait for December.
Shaking head
                   aching neck.
I'll thank you to remember
              I've always been one
              for walking in snow,
          ******* clenching this jaw
     while I'm chomping down crow--
--Don't wanna drink in the park
              'til it's really ******* cold.

And you...
          got no reasons to lie
          or axes for grinding.
           Just summery eyes,
          blind to punchlines
                  but finding
                      me out,

       With my rank Autumn breath,
                        I'll try...
       try to settle on Spring one time.

Are you
         dwelling today
                   on concepts
of verbal grenades or clever plays. Lost this bet.
           Cut off my sleeves, no ace.
Call me in the morning, or could play it safe.
     Summer's gold, but will you freeze
                        if I don't stay?

               I'll curse my sweating
                       shakes away.

Wanna sit in the dark,
hash it out with my ego...
Barely awake, I can no longer speak
                        so
I'm glued to my bed.
I can't wait for December.
Pounding skull,
                 crane my neck--
Try once more to remember
              I've always been one
               for sleeping alone,
          turning, tossing in sheets,
          spitting crow back at cold.
--Just wanna drink in the dark
           'til I'm really ******* old.


    Were there...
          really stories to tell?
     or just axes for grinding?
           Or summery eyes,
          sneering punchlines
                  frowns sliding
                    cleats first?    

    
        With brittle Winter hopes,
                        I'll try...
     try to settle on Spring--No dice.

And I'm
         dwelling today
                   on concepts
   of phantom pains and severance pay. Taking bets?
               I'm finna lose both legs.
Take two in the morning, stay awake all day.
     You stay gold. I guess I'll stay
                     the **** away.

The rats and the snakes
     creep in and crawl through your brains.
     Those veins are pumpin' sky blue blood.
Don't wanna circle the drain, but cycles spin 'round and 'round
     and then they **** ya down in thick, black mud.

It sticks in your craw,
          the way they're flappin' their gobs;
their dollars buyin' graveside seats.
Cheaters glom onto prayers the way you clutch at your chest,
                    and slobber in the putrid heat.

               When they come for ya, baby,
                      maybe run with me.
                Chase the dyin' light to San Jose.

               No point in cryin' or laughin',
               fightin', fussin' or clappin'--
       Cap or Crown, it's only goin' one way.


                              They bought.
                                 You sold,
                                missed rent.
                              It's getting cold.
                              November Rain.
                           It soaks you through.
               But that Song, girl, it ain't nothin' new.


So punch your ticket and scoff
while we all bend and cough.
Catch the last flight, and I'll stand by.

But don't lie to yourself--
          silver linings on brass,
they can't break through the gold-clad sky.

                          Yeah, ya silly ******...

Triangulate on northern skies
pinned positions. Drawing lines
until the 106 meets up with the 45
             On a hot night,
   I might keep this smile alive
long enough to trace the alleys,
salt the streets with summer sighs

It was night time
And the sky took a bite--
drank our blood, we drained our pints
           and we set the world to rights
Switched to whiskey--
         same color as your eyes.
   You said mine looked sad, but you told me they were nice

Now I want you to know I once had something to say
on the tip of my tongue
             but it's late and I have aged.
                So get walking...
And I guess I'll do the same.
Meet up in the middle, in the Fall, some other day.

Celsius to Fahrenheit
they took each other's measure.
While you walked half the distance,
I got lost along the way.
I succumbed to ******* frostbite--
it was not a point of pleasure.
Meet me at minus 40
if you've got a thing to say.

Hang icicles from buildings.
Hang a frown on one long face.
Hung my hat on losing hands
                                            we'll
hang up halfway through this call
and I'll directly start to hate this place.
Heap reasons on these question marks.
Hot coffee, honey cruller.
Split the check, we'll split the difference--
               Celsius to Fahrenheit
       I fought through the conversion

Then I fought my way into a much worse place.

Was Monday when some somebody said
someone else had some trouble
               sticking out their neck.
You had a thing to get off of your chest
sent home walking alone, just as I suspected.

Had ears full of the tallest tales.
Sails deflated, drunk and jaded
               spitting coffin nails.
From my seat on this dusty city bus
I can see a whole kingdom made of ash and rust.

               ...everything the ******* touches...

Was Springtime when some somebody claimed
that they loved a certain someone--
               "didn't wanna leave."
4 months later, you were taking your leave.
"We'll stay friends on social media--
                         I didn't delete you."

My gut's full of tales like this one.
Drunk and fading, still just wading
               through the deepest ones.
Take my seat on this city bus,
Let this heart burn out and smolder down to ash and dust.

               ...All the things your friendship touches...

***** basements, then sidewalks under stars.
Zip these footfalls up to closure
     Closing down the bars.
Outta lies? You're outta time.
               And, so far,
that's all you gave and I'm the fish
               who swallows that hard hook.

In the end, I guess that we'll be fine.
finding distance, finding form among the solid lines.
End-of-day, the only way out is time.
               Guess you've got yours.
                    And I've got mine.

You've got yours.
And I've got mine.

Flashing grasp of an idea
Before our youths were ever cashed in.
Held onto our chips, played close to the vest
                    in snow.
You were never enough sleeping,
And I guess I was just dreaming
                    of passing
                        ships
                    in the night
            and your signal lights
                        aglow.

                  ...in the foam...

Adventure was calling a heart slow to age,
the same as it had back in our young Old Days.
               So, some things don't change.

I remember, in the Winter,
Trudging quick to campus coffee shop.
Your wet hair frozen, and my breath in that
                    moment...

Springtime flash of our confessions
Just as our youths were getting cashed in.
Released all our chips we'd held close to our chests.
                    Let go.
We were lovers for a season
'til a sudden Summer leaving
                    a passing
                     of boats
                      in heat
             put our oars down
                and we rowed.

That feeling was calling my heart--"Time to age!"
Still falling, like it had in our young Old Days.
                         I guess some things don't change.

Along the way,
You must have fossilized inside me.
Lightning on waves--
Metastasized my bad dreams.
And, over time, see that I was a distraction
                                   No traction,
                                   No chance,
and no time for empty grief...
                         ...it's only brief, love,
                                still I did sink.