Kick me out
Trow me away
Break my bones with those sticks and stones
Dig my grave
Bury me deep
Give me a mercy killing
and now the torment shall begin

From all I've done and all I've said
let them not seek to find who I've been.
An obstacle stood and transformed
my acts and way of my life.
An obstacle stood and stopped me
many a time as I was going to speak.
My most unobserved acts,
and my writitings the most covered --
thence only they will feel me.
But mayhaps it is not worth to spend
this much care and this much effort to know me.
For -- in the more perfect society --
someone else like me created
will certainly appear and freely act.

Death is an odd number.
I have multiplied an even temper,
an even heart, an even playing field,
two parents, two major traumatic events,
four major moves, eight stages to a break down
twelve stages to a recovery four times.
I have mulitiplied tens of girlfriends
and hundreds of friends, all with even little
zeroes sitting at the end of their quantities and
qualities
And all I get is 7, 25, 57, 143, 1, 1777, 945, and 3.
And no love can exist if not divisible by 2,
so I imagine Death is
just the absence of love.

I feel cold now.

Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that
I do adore.
What surety is there
That we will meet again,
On other worlds some
Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise
Of one more sweet encounter
I will not deign to die.

A man comes to a divergence
Two paths in his view.
One tamed and treaded,
One dark and dreaded.

A man moves to the neglected,
So he may follow in the wake
Of more impressive footsteps.

I remember you said
As I sat on your bed that
My love was not true
Well I loved you a lot
With all that I’ve got
Not much but what can you do

And you said that your sin
Was drinking the gin
I remember it made me feel ill
And it hurt me a lot
Took all that I’ve got
Not much but what can you do

Then you said it’s a lie
When I would cry
I don’t want to follow your way
And you’d give me the taunt
You don’t really want well
Not much but what can I say

So here’s to you mam
Cause I don’t give a ****
What happens now that were through
I loved you a lot
And I think I’ve forgot
Not much but what can you do

I feel vulnerable yet invincible.
Strong yet weak.
Drunk yet sober.
High yet grounded.
Stable yet chaotic.
This girl makes me fall to my knees.
But raises me up.
Time speeds up. 
I love the way your blonde curls bounce ever so
The way it should be.
This is for you.

Tonight while you drive, I touch your arm, shoulder, thigh; I touch the parts of you that I can reach. The parts of you that I know exist simply because I can fe­el bones under skin.
 
In front of us the highway stretches on and on, to the point that I do not know if it ever plans on ending or simply dissolving into the dark like the red tail lights ahead of us continue to do.
 
I worry that I am everything the tail lights are not: stale and unmoving, pleasing to stay in one place. I worry that I am everything the tail lights are: speeding on past the point of now, all too eager to find something, somewhere.

Your hand tucked between my thighs tells me differently and anchors me to this place, with you. I try to circle your wide, flat wrist with my small fingers, knowing that they will never reach, knowing that they will never meet each other. I touch you because I am afraid that you are not real.