Things were always happening in the dark
And behind closed doors
Or after everyone fell unconscious to the hand of drink

What I remember most is that first night in the basement
The beginning of Year One
You shotgunned a beer in the boiler room and we almost kissed

My hands on your legs felt like something I believed in
It was always all wrong
I had trouble deciphering between your face and my reflection

There are still so many nights I pushed into the space between my bed and the wall

On the first day of treatment
I walked into the office.
My mouth was dry.
My mom held my hand
Yet I still shook.

Going into the radiation room,
A huge machine with all these lights.
It looked like a disco ball,
But this was not a dance.

I lie down on my back and then my stomach.
Doctors put stickers on my back
I felt like the donkey in pin-the-tail.

The words hang thickly above my hand ?oscillating feverishly with limitless possibility. ?As the words begin to whip around in a cyclone ?of pure creation?. My hand begins to tremble as it staggers to ?keep pace with their dizzying entrance into this reality. ?The powerful words.?The phrases of iron ?and sentences of stone ?free fall into my hand to be ?released in the heavy darkness of each droplet of ink. ?The frivolous words.?The phrases of fancy ?and the plastic paragraphs ?fall away from the pen to rejoin the primordial well of imagination to await the right pen and hand to call them forth to their true purpose.

I am tired of permanently loving temporary men.