For my brother, Martin

I'm going to sling your memory
over my shoulder
back pack you round the world

slide you on to station platforms
alongside the passing panorama of footsteps
that echo on that slice of cold cement

tuck you into airplane lockers
overhead the sleeping flyers
in that metal coffin in the ice cream clouds

nestle you among bus luggage
beneath the picture windows
and the ribbon racing road

I will unpack you in every village
every town and every city
in every land and nation

on every continent and land mass
crossing the oceans and seas
catching every wave and tide

circling the earth on winds and breezes
following sunsets and solar eclipses
and every cycle of the moon

until I find a place of resting
until I find a place of peace
until I find a place of peace

© M.L.Emmett

It brings about a change
In what we do and say
As it pulls out it's list
And starts taking names

It grabs a hold the heart
Soon beating in two parts
Making itself out to be
A finer work of art

Never does it get enough
Never is it in a rush
Loving love is what it does
Which is loves hidden love

Two souls at a distance
Brought together at its insistence
Even on the second time around
In case the first time you might have missed it

It brings about a change
As lives are rearranged
Taking out of depths dark loneliness
Into loves light of day

Never does it get enough
Never is it in a rush
Loving love is what it does
Which is loves hidden love

Love is patient,
It willingly waits,
Accommodating the pace,
of others,
it is never in a haste.

Love is kind,
It provides support for the long haul,
even in the heaviest downpours.
It appreciates the efforts others make,
However small.

It does not envy, it does not boast.
It exudes humility wherever it goes.
Love is not proud,
"I" is never what it's about.
Love is not rude,
even when it's in a foul mood.

It is not self-seeking,
It does not fight for rights.
Love is not easily angered,
It does not stir up fights.

It keeps no records of wrongs.
Love is forgiving.
It is always protecting,
rather hurting itself than hurting another.

It is always trusting, hoping and persevering even
when the person repeatedly does the wrong thing.
Love never fails.

This is the love that I have.
The love bore to me in death.
When you died on that cross,
You paid the cost.

And now, I'm no longer lost.

“Don’t worry because
     I will make time
     to stare at you;
     tracing your collarbones
     like constellations and;
     watch your eyes
     obligingly flutter close
     and darling, I’ll kiss each eyelid
     hoping you'll ******* love,
     turn your eyes into the colors
     of someone you loved
     and in time, they’ll turn into mine  
     and you will dedicate your time,
     staring at me
     as much as I did to you
     when he didn’t.”

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

No dignity for the 4th Floor Psych Ward gang
Paraded about through the entire building
Rockin' and rollin' blue & white striped bath robes
Didn't bother with the belts, we coulda made it work
By sheer determination and the awkward looks on our faces
We set the trend for people who didn't know any better

Out for a trip to the commissary
Fifty cents in hand for a can of soda
Even though the medicine I was on
Made Dr. Pepper taste like club soda infused with flecks of rust
And a metallic, radioactive aftertaste
That was far from the sugar rush one would expect
Coca-Cola was even worst

Such dignity we carried, they called the food tray box "the chow cart"
And the food was barely fit for animals
Quickly transitioning from warm to cool
Always some ridiculously nasty chicken-based meal
I had never seen a fried chicken breast that was gray
But the sherbet was heaven for my cotton mouth
Dry as the tundra
I lost a lot of weight during those months
I survived on the fourth floor
I shot some 8-Ball pool with swagger and Sinatra confidence
Convinced I saw recognition in a visiting gal's eye
A flick of the wrist and this goofball magically exuded *** appeal
Nothing more than confidence
I could make those two girls smile and blush
Because they could sense the looseness in my crotch
They could see I was in charge, batshit crazy as I may have been
I had reached the perfect weight
For those blue and white striped bath robes to truly shine

I let them walk away, didn't say anything
I knew where they were going
I knew what they'd be doing when they got there
Always on their minds

Why couldn't the catatonic Ethiopian soldier girl do it like me?
She couldn't even hold a spoon
Psych techs had to feed her like a helpless baby child
Even then she resisted
So that food dribbled down the sides of her cheeks
But one day I passed her room, looking in
She was brushing her hair without a problem
There was some intelligence in her eyes
She caught me staring and with perfect ease she rose to close the door in my face
Catatonic no more?
Or was she ever?
Was ANY of this real
Or was it all staged for my benefit?
What exactly was I doing on the fourth floor?
Was it a test?
Was I a guinea pig?
That spot on my skull just behind my right ear
It itched a lot lately
Was that bump a quartz crystal embedded between skin and muscle?

Why yes, I believe it is