one time my dog brought me a squirrel he had half killed

and I stood staring at it quiver, half alive, with a baseball bat in my hand

dog barking and my ears shaking

and I couldn't bring myself to do it

I watched it die and laid its body adjacent to our creek

I will not be an angel of death

I want to taste the flavor her words again
Where she spoke sweet and left something sour in word
And it was salt in the wound and acid in the cut
She was my obesity
Now, I am half the man I used to be.

Caught you hiding in the little things
Like the written word
From that you cannot run
The crumbled letter once written so cold
now sits, smoldering at the depth of a trash can
and you lay there, smoke in nostrils and eyes watering
Until the brimstone and ash beckons
And you dig your hand into the refuse and waste
Pulling out the fire to ease the tears and cacophony
Only for it to wither in your hands
And you will lay there again
Eyes clear and white like lily of the valley
With vacant lungs and a yearnful demeanor
Wishing the burn would go away

I long to be an old woman
Fingers stricken by wrinkles and skin memory of past love
I want to gaze longingly into the Miamian sunset and ponder on missed chances
I want to make cheesecake a long forgotten friend i venture back to with fondness every fortnight or so
I want to fall into trivialities like bingo or muffin making
To die beach side and ancient so that blood memory awakens
And with my last breath ecstasy implodes and i become the last generation again
The clock isn't real
Its digits are manmade
And with it comes functionality like we are predestined to coup against
I will be your old lady
And you will be that soft, young ear that my razor blade lined drivel will fall against

Let it be know I let sand fall through each crevice
And when you watch it all fall
You don't count the grains until about 10 left
I count it like seconds
As the texture slowly leaves my nerves like a girl you hate (love)
Those with cancer, suicidal ideation and a beautiful wife
Become aware of their fleeting beaches too late
So they make snow angels in it
Slowly sinking beneath instead of standing up
And the sand awaits the next eager, quasi-benevolent boy
It is a line to the beach, I check my ticket number
"21"

Springtime comes and we are still cold
Where you wave flowers in lieu of my hands
Chrysanthemums are my favorite
In them lie hidden a poison veiled by colors and patterns
But you didn't know
They were dead before my fingers connected
She loves me, she loves me too much i say as pick the dead petals
Before they were all gone and my breath to the wind
The angel on my shoulder is ignoring me and the devil is on vacation
and its just me
all alone with my vices and stonewall demeanor
tall as the shadow of the tree i hide under
and you are so high up
breathing in mountain air and living
As above so below it hurts
miles above me and yet you dont look down on me
Instead you extend a hand down
And i kept getting lower and lower
Until your arm reached its limit
And i peel my skin off trying to find the reason
the chronic ennui and morose feeling juxtaposed with your canyon length smile
To realize I am no more a man the more layers are gone
just getting closer inside to the boy who never healed
You never saw all the times i wanted to cry
to wail and scream and tell you what was killing me
the poison in me for so long
i tried to keep it contained
only for it to spread like wildfire
Why did it take you dying for me to love you?

Does my name strike you in the chest
like arctic wind on bare skin
or a heatwave from an oven door


Or have the memories and associations turned to blank
An image to picture
A scent to happenstance
The words to just sounds


Did my face fade to another then to silhouettes then to shapes
only to appear in a restaurant booth or each puddle along Route 8

Carry with you that piece of me however small it may be
even if my name is just another outline amidst infinity