two seconds,    i planned
just one moment to love you,
but  those two seconds    drag on:
                          two hundred days, a smile, a night's passage,
                            two years, another winter;
                  leave, return, repeat.
this cycle of wanting you,
  and never wanting to
                       but, who am i,
           to tell me what to do?
                              two weeks, a pulling of sinew:
                                            an arm loose,
                        a finger,                   tracing lines on the floorboards
                                   'cause i don't
                                               want to stand up,
anymore.
                           i'll just lie here,
                      ok?
            like i lie to you,
every time i don't speak,
hoping you will,
hoping you'll say,

                   you're not sorry
anymore.

You used to count your French fries.

One-by-one you made them disappear in a puff of smoke
like a secret slight-of-hand artist,
all the while keeping track of each one,
tucked into your sleeves and inside pockets
so that, in the final gut-wrenching act,
you could bring them all back.

For too long
it was a magic show
with no audience.

In the past months I have watched the show evolve.
No more smoke and mirrors,
or misdirection.
The final act has been cut.
By all accounts the show is much less exciting,
more commonplace.

But I still count.
Every single one.
And silently applaud each now-you-see-it, now-you-don't.

Because I know that the hardest trick,
the mark of a true master,
is making them disappear for good.

Digesting all things new
is inspiring and scary.

One week ago, I had 20 fewer friends.
It turns out, "they" were right about being yourself.

New worlds, new passions, new confidence.
I'll never to go back to the doubt that I had.

stuck in a hollow room,
handfuls of pictures of
years, now simple past,
rain still bound, fallen,
the quietness of absence,
the eclipse of
your dissolute smile;

one day,
years ago,
I must have woken up,
and forgotten to stay in love,

or just realized,
I never really was.

I kind of love you
    when you’re drunk
    and you
    piece together words
    like a child would
    a broken vase;
quickly and clumsily,

like you are afraid of
being caught
by your own thoughts.

Your fragile eyes
carry my dreams inside
Iris prisons to explore
Swim through me lovingly
Wade and sink, nothing more

Playful eyes dancing
Like novice ballerinas
Affect clumsy grace
Seize my rhythm
And leave a smile in its place

Mourning stares
Hold back the dawn
And with me wait heavily
Broken eyes like broken sighs
know my listless heart has gone

Steely glare
Harden your iron gates
Confront me and dare
Dig recklessly and penetrate
Like razors unsheathed

What subtle truth lies
Behind those eyes
With telling lies are swollen
I've looked too long
God knows what they've stolen

This dream of consciousness will not end alarmingly,
though it leaves lines on Billo's face
smushed against pillows placed
strategically

The strategy?
To look tragically well put-together
to get her to lie in the bed I made hastily
Well - I say this, but the presentation's done tastefully:
Big blanket tucked
IN with style
OUT of luck since I've not been...
...touched in a while

I grinningly smile - it'll all be ok
(I'm not much for physical lovin' anyway)
...beyond hugging and kissing and getting to stay
for the night curled up close whispering "sweetie, sleep tight"

I've not got these dreams, but I've some aspirations
No sweetie, I'm not sweaty,
- I've no *** persperation
My room is too cold with the wind's drafty laughter
My bed is too cold since I've not quite yet asked her
to lie with me and lie to me that she is the one
and I will be won over,
over-nighting done right
...
Left to the imagination, day-dreaming's my vision
Pigeon-holing my gamboling gambling rambling
Not quite in shambles, see?
I get it: regretting is letting me settle into misery
"Mysterio the (not-so) great" is dutifully bound to wait
Patience is love doctors' medication - "Just wait!" they prescribe
and in time their patients' trepidation will end.

Inner peace outer space and I pace.
(without her face to grin at)
synapse fired
for nodding off on the job

**** awake, up for work
Woken, spurred
on toward spoken word
March forwards - four words
Reverse reverie never hurt
"But I don't dream!" I think
Does it stop me from trying?
From lying to and by myself,
in doubt in a drought
Good - buy myself a drink:
rootbeer, two shots of espresso
let's go, caffeine-Billo tag team
on the rocks, off the clock
(talk about self-deprecation, why don't you)
Chew on the cubes with contextual frustration
The drink's gone, I think long and hard at long last
ARRRG I yell in a fit mentally I'll
sleep on it.