I do believe there is a battle for(e)
hearts and minds of men;
a silent front
on the theatre of war: defiled
p
e
r
c
e
p
t
i
o
n

i am so much like
the tide and sand--all
there and then not a trace
each grain pushed up and
dug in, washed away by
a smooth hand, pulled
up and dredged out,
separated by skilled
fingers from the
muck and ****
swept out of my
hiding place where
i clung to the rocks
and crevices with fervor
only to be cast upon the shore
water-logged and soaked in salt
i am each mote of feldspar and quartz
drawn and then flat, riddled with color
and grime, pulsing day in--day out to
the heartbeat of an ocean, to a master
as a servant--fighting the flux where
it doesn't go

all the bits and none at all, against the
water then all at once, all at once, all at once
out into the sea, into the furious evening
to weather the storm or weather myself


all at once
all at once
all at once.

my anger has manifested
into sore throats, the perpetual
swallow, even while you sleep--
that no saliva, cotton ball in your
chest soaking up the living, leaving
me high and dry, contemplating
the meaning of every idiom,
every moment, every customer
that orders five 20oz mochas
and doesn't leave a single
tip but works on the block
and complains about local
business.

i stop dead in my tracks
when referring to their
house, because it doesn't
seem like mine anymore
but I'm confused as to
what really is a home
in the truest sense of
the thing because
I feel like a molecule
in a widening bubble
the farthest from claustrophobia
that I've ever been, there's nobody
that I want to see, and everywhere
I want to go, but like a machine I
seem to require the right environment
to function, so i'm canceling all my plans
ripping excuses out of the cookbook
missing the sun when it's right outside
my window, sometimes right above my
head--and this rug beneath my feet feels
more like the only safe place in Canon
everything else doesn't belong, everything
else doesn't          fit eve
                                        rything
else can't           be in the s a me room as  



me.

write me a letter when
you get to Portland, about
the coast and graying ocean
how the fog doesn't burn off
till late morning, your walks
with God in the forest, you
had a revelation at Voodoo
Donuts in front of the gloss
and icing, this is where
the wax melted off in
broad daylight, you
found yourself amidst
strawberries and cream,
orange nectar and peach


Write me a letter when
you get to Portland, tell
me how much you love
it--the greens and grays
and barely-there-blues
off in the distance in
mellow hues


write me when you get there
and leave the letter in the sun
let your evening tea hold the
corners and ring your coffee
between the lines, let me know
when you get to Portland
let me know
let me know
let me know, love.