my fire is back
whirlwind
wanderer
wistful
whisper
wonderful
woman
my fire is back
and my feet
won't fail
me
this time

My feet
Are numb
And I can't
                                   Stand
         the deafening
Sound of
Sweet sounding
Nothings,
The bitter
And blank
Tingle of
White noise
That circulates
Rooms full
Of people.

Love seems
that it's half way
unconscious
like
burn on my cheeks
whenever I see
my lover
smile
and
halfway a choice
to be respect
the other
and their emotions
even if that
means
accepting the
fact
they may never
really ever love you back.

All of the
baby clean
lovers, teens
in Paris with
their purple
spotted necks
rosey cheeks
and cigarettes
reminded me
of how many times
a day I used
to fall in love
with someone
new

and now

I feel so numb.

learning new lips
like lost lovers
often do

Lately I've been
Thinking about this little girl
That was in the room next to mine
At the state rehab
Facility when I
Was 13
She was always
Crying
And being
Told to wash her face
Use her coping skills
She was 6
And her parents told
Her they were going
Out for
ice cream
Then they dropped her
Off
And she hasn't seen
Them in two weeks
So she's crying
And she's scared
And she's telling this
To a drugged up
Hospital gowned (they took all my clothes at check in)
Preteen
She's scared
I've got scars up
And down my arms

She's scared
And she's crying
And this isn't the ice cream parlor
Down the street
From her suburban home
And this isn't her bed
These aren't her friends
And I don't know why
But I promised her that everything would be ok
And that it was fine to be scared
         her parents were coming back

Everything would be fine
And perhaps there would be pudding
With sprinkles at lunch
Which is pretty close to ice cream.

I wrapped my pinky around
Hers
Half the size
And I promised her all of these things
None of which I really knew
To be true
A nurse came barreling down the hallway
And screamed at me
For interacting with a younger
Girl in a different program
Then they moved her to a different room

I never saw her again
Heard her cry
And I forgot about her
Little blotchy
Swollen face
Crying to me
Throughout the years

Then a few weeks ago
I remembered that you had promised to me
You would always be here
Which you couldn't possibly know
And I thought of the girl
And the ice cream
All of the promises I made

I wondered if I had lied
To her
And I wondered
Why we so often
Make promises
We aren't entirely sure
Will be kept?

long drives are good
for counting
short lived
love letters
lasting
laying waste
In some landfill on the border of
Northern Georgia
dreaming of
three four
crushing concrete columns
and shaking out
some of the weight
you may have left
me in the backseat
of my car.