most of my favorite songs have
become  prisons.  i  can  hear
the sound of you humming
beneathe every line and i
swear  i  c a n  feel  your
nose pressing into my
neck   w i t h    each
passing    chorus.

found my old
heart in a candle
from bath and body
works, could you
see me by the closet
hunched over with
my nose inside the
glass, because this
scent takes me
back beneath
the cold seattle
rain, a mist that
never settles and
clammy toes that
never warmed up
a cranberry room
                                         and a life so                            unreserved
without obsession,
I can hardly remember it.

chuck said a lot of
things that should
scare me but it was
only when he said
I must find my place
in the ministry and
i wanted to cry out
and tell him I don't
think that I have one.

go       d    
at       the
        end       of the      
        night i       am  just      
     looking       simply        
             f o r       someone      
who talks       like      y o u

the sparrows
followed me
down the hill
wrote scripture
in their trails
and the wind
blew against
my skin.

34b
8.5
20
36
29
140
5' 7"
18
16
8:30
6:00

I have to fit Eddie into sixteen pages
twelve point font, double spaced
enough room for critiques and mistakes
How do I pack his spirit
inside black inked words,
inch and half borders?
How can I convey his essence
and what his departure from earth
left behind?
I'd have a better chance of
describing the ocean
to the blind
or the sound of bird's song
to the deaf
No words said could give him justice
and bring him back
take his lifeless ash
resurrect him
but I have to
I must spill him out from this pen
make him whole
dismiss the cold of death
so I can tell the world
"Even when their gone
you can still feel them
in your...your...
breath..."