hello.
you wanted answers
to your questions
they are bleeding
you dry, like so many
needling worries
do.

I'm calling you to tell you
that I don't have anything to say.
It's a lie,
but I'm too stuck to tell you
that the thought of sitting
somewhere quiet and cold
watching the stars pop out of their
black velvet bed
as the wind and the cars
whip by
to turn and look at you
your eyes reflecting red and green
bound in gold and browns
it's the only thing keeping me
going,
like a thread of ribbon,
beautiful delicate
stronger than you'd think
but lost against the
repeating fabric
of daily tedium and survival.