blue eyed and built
with barriers
that are so silent
you'd think that they
were made with
ghost bones
whispering willow
says I love you
late at night on
a cigarette strewn
porch
and i can
believe and be
patient
because you make
my head so heavy
when i'm close
to you.

intimacy,
she wraps around my legs like a cobra
and i am afraid

"get better"
pictures of an exhausted illustrated sun
pulling itself up over the horizon

i wonder if the sun ever has struggles like these

umbrellas in bloom
a city rushes like
water down to the bay
my hands sit still
on the coffee table
cupping my drink
watching the canopy
of covered swarms
make their way to
work
it reminds me of
the schools of fish
i used to watch
race around at the aquarium
because
occasionally
there will be one
that seems a little
                                      lost
                      or                             out of place
in the way
they move

Last night
Was the first time
I have ever
Flinched when
A lover made
Too sharp of a movement
Out of the
Corner of my eye
And here I thought
I had rid myself of
Every trace of you.

Slack jawed
and wilted like the bud that
bloomed too soon
hunch over into my knees
the room sweats
some sweet southern sadness -
the kind a mother makes
when she remembers
the way you used to
wrap your hole hand
around one of her fingers
and you'd smile a bit more
- my hands now cupped
so I can pour pieces
of myself out,
b r e a t h
then repeat

Slack jawed
and wilted like the one track
wonderer who has lost his thought
press my lips to the floor
when my white noise
sensitivities and speculative
perceptions become too
populated to
preserve
pour pieces,
b r e a t h
repeat.

I want nothing to do
with your salted earth