The switch is welcomed
with arms open
like a soldier's homecoming.
—
—
It's not love,
but it's
certainly not hate.

So there I saw-
and then I curled
into my fetal ball of envy

my happiness had coagulated
and chilled
like a refrozen popsicle
at the back of the freezer.

even if you melted
my
stale
cracked
enclosure
you would still smell
the jealous-
like
hangover
on my breath

I swear it even
exploits my muscles
my tendons grimace
like massive internal
pulley systems.

when my mind
frowns condescendingly
at my juvenile grievances,
the follies laugh their
disassembled modulations
and ignore my pleas

no-it takes more than that.
my every yellow Laureling
becomes a necessity
to coax, soften my
serpentine
charity
from whence I have locked it.

I read the poem I wrote about you on the radio yesterday.
I wonder if the waves hit you, wherever you were.
If somewhere under your skin you felt my words
About you.
I'm sure you didn't hear them.
I'd have heard if you had.
Or maybe you did,
And you listened with disgust
Or with that feeling when your heart sinks but it's with fearful hope.
I don't know what you'd think if you heard my voice on the radio,
Saying I cried the night you kissed me.
Maybe you'd be ashamed,
Or maybe you'd call me a goon, like you do when you don't know what to say.
Amanda used to call me silly,
Or kiddo,
The same way-
To make it clear (to herself) that I was not threateningly in love with her
And that she was not perilously fascinated with me.
I really honestly have no idea what you'd do
If you heard
But I think I'd know about it, whatever it was.
I think you didn't hear.
Maybe a friend of yours did,
Maybe one that thought for a moment on the description
And was startled to think of you,
And then dismissed it as ridiculous.
Maybe nobody heard it, who knew you.
But I know people heard it.
And they heard how I loved you that moment when I first truly met you,
And they heard how it broke me to see you walk away
Even though back then you were promising to come back.
They heard what I think you want to forget happened.
And that's why
I read the poem I wrote about you on the radio yesterday.

Watercolor recollections,
Bleed away with rain
With the brilliant colors
All longing fades away
To have you hold me.

I miss you
And our hours together
color on pale canvas
like the face paint we used last Halloween
And I’d laugh when you’d tickle my nose

My hollow screams rebound
from every brick of our studio
Fragmented cries of someone not whole
You are in every direction here
Each canvas smeared with paint
is another trinket in your shrine

Like driftwood sculptures bobbing in still water
Long buried memories surface
But no blissful moment emerges
those are buried with you

We fought that night
Like wolves for their young,
Father’s for their daughter
Vicious and unrelenting.
Neither of us really won

But I long to forget
Cobblestone words, sharp
Driven from you in anger
Forced out of your mouth
An orphan wrenched from cold, dead hands

So I place our paintings on the doorstep
And the rain becomes an eraser
The color fades
Like runoff water from mountains

And with our watercolor creations,
All memories drain away
And I’m left with nothing
But smudges of paint on my skin
Inside our paradise.

Being alone is not the same
as being lonely
Being alone is beautiful
You need to know how to be
alone
before you can depend on
another
Being alone can be lonely
only if that's how you choose to spend your time
alone
Learn to love yourself and learn to love
alone
Before you find yourself
alone
in a city full of
lonely people.