I found you again today.
In a box
I almost threw you away,
you know?

Buried in a bunch.
A mess of high school calculus
And little lost ideas.

Purple words,
Dead words. Love words now withered, Like bandages about a corpse.

You can't heal the dead ya know.

I guess even the richest king
Must end up in a tomb.
Mouth agape in frozen complaint.
Covered sadly, with golden futility.
By those who knew him so little.


But, it spoke as it always did
Simply and impossible to ignore.
Like sand in the eyes.
Like your eyes.

Reminding me of old foot prints.

Reminding me of me
When love was so singular,
Easy and yet.....

It oiled my rusty smile
Enough
To kiss you good bye

Again.

A blanket and a coffin

It had been raining for days, and everything felt damp
now the sun was shining the old man took out his coffin
from the shed, opened the lid and took out the folded
blanket and a pillow to dry it and take out the dank smell.
He sat by the computer and didn't notice it was raining
again, and when he did notice the coffin was full of water,
and the neighbours’ ducks used it as a pond.
He upended the coffin; it would take days to dry it now
hoped the weather would hold for at least three days.
The old man knew he was ridiculous, wanting a blanket over him
and a pillow to rest his head on like he, when dead, would notice,
yet the thought of it gave him comfort;
and that what's life is all about.

I want to melt into your skin and stay there for a night
Bite your collar bone and sink my teeth a little further from our next goodbye.
Say hello to me again soon so I can wrap my palms around your shoulder blades
Move my fingertips to your jaw line and touch my tongue to your throat
Taste the way your words come out

No I'm not jealous, you are
millenial me seeing green with that
type of money, I'd hit the cams
if I didnt look ugly in my head at least
for a shot at that kind of money

maybe I should deal drugs instead?

firelight flickers in her irises
as she takes another step away
from the candlelit corridors
she used to call home,
when she was comatose,
when she drifted
like ashes in the wind,
like dying sparks
floating dimly
in a darkening sea--
like he used to look
when he looked
at me.

feel the muscles tensing there
softly hear my praises sing
raise my pulse, and pull my hair--
my body is a loving thing.

touch my neck: its hairs will raise
feel my goosebumps spread;
if your lips on mine should graze
i shall never join the dead.

but to you i'm only skin
and all my tears are not enough
to baptize me from how you've sinned
and how you took advantage, love.

grief is fingernails in your palm
when you're standing in a public restroom
wondering why everything feels wrong.

grief is not having worn mascara for four months
because streaked ink-black cheeks isn't a look
you want to be known for.

grief is dancing on the verge of tears
in a math class, because your mind wanders
too often and death looms too large to avoid.

It's another loveless Sunday Afternoon
and between the gray sky and the
responsibilities that pile up
faster than October's drooping leaves,
I'm lost,
wondering if I missed my exit
or if I'm just meant to feel this way.