I swear I could build a library.
Using the settled dust of our memories as a foundation.
I could build an archive.
Using cheat sheets I made, to guide me through asking you to marry me.
I could build a gallery of mirrors surrounding you.
And just pretend it was the same beautiful portrait from different vantage points.
I could do a lot if I wasn't sick.
If I wasn't so stuck on wishing I could go back.
I swear I could build a house-
And live alone there until I die.

But who would drink the coffee?-
And who would wake me up?
Who would listen to my every word-
And never interrupt.
It doesn't even matter-
How easy it could shatter.
But we still build them so she'll come.
And hope she never leaves.
But they always do.

The world is just an old fat man.
Rolling in holy black sheets.
Old replayed talk radio-
And a nice warm cup of tea.
I drank my soda too fast.
I looked at her too long.
I said I'd see the world.
But without Her, I'm sure I'd see it wrong.
We used our hands as cups and plates.
We never wanted to sleep.
We stayed up until morning.
Busy bodied, watching T.V.
She painted her nails in the same color-
As the sky after a storm, where-
Orange and red, with swirls-
Twisted like her hair.
The world saw me love her.
It even led me by the hand.
And just because you miss me-
Doesn't mean I miss you back.

Folded pieces of paper.
Old past due assignments.
Made paper footballs with-
Corners pointed like diamonds.

Spent all that time.
Scooping out room for-
You in my heart.
Like guts of a pumpkin.

Stay close to you I tried.
But the pumpkin got rotten.
Corners got bent.
And my company unwanted.

A couple of cans of root beer.
Sitting along my windowsill.
Sitting still, lukewarm and flat.
Dragging in gnats.

I remade my bed.
Cleared off the pillows-
I pretended were you-
And made room for two.

I took down the pictures.
I took down the lights.
Took down some notes on-
How to resist my-

Need to be loved and-
My want to be fine.
My urge to move forward and-
Hunger to fight.

I get lost in the right-
Ideas and go wrong.
I hope that you don't think-
That I belong here.

"Be calm"-
I was laying flat in a bed.
My palms-
Shaking and my face is red.

Listening to looped white noise.
I had ping pong ***** taped to my eyes.
Red dot lasers pointed in the center of each.
The method we used to help me lucid dream.

I've clicked my heels.
I've torn the house apart-
Looking for lamps to rub.
I've decided to set the alarm for 12:33-
So I can watch the clock hit 12:34.
So I can wish for you.

Your eyes tether me.
Wide green sense of familiarity.
Your alpine white dress drags against your feet.
Looks for a place for thread and floor to meet.

It's hard to think-
this time last week-
I was searching for weeds-
in the cracks of the street-
in front of the church-
Where I once worked-
In the sun, hardwork-
Pulled weeds all day till my hands hurt-

I was working at the shelter when he found me-
said son you need to leave-
move out, get out of this town-
because you ain't happy, and you sure as hell ain't proud.

Back to flint-
crime hole of Michigan-
where I once lived-
when I was a kid-
where the buildings look like ****-
and the streets smell like ****-

It's been six years since I left for Maine-
I've searched flint up and down for a familiar face-
the only thing familiar was the old cafe-
we spent summers here, breakfast everyday.

Lady at the counter asked "sweetie what's your name"-
She was cleaning the tables while I had my tea-
She said they don't pay her enough for this ****.
I said "you still make more than me"

She recognized my face-
I asked her if She remembered any of my friends-
We used to come here everyday-
After school. For burgers and shakes-

I explained, I never kept in touch-
I'm not the type to, And even if I did-
they wouldn't hear from me that much-

I told her what had happened. How I lost my house in flames. I have no where to stay, not my parents, and I don't have any friends.

She said she remembered you. She remembered how we were always
together.

Asked if you still lived in town-
She said yeah-
she sees you sometimes, hanging around.

She set a glass down-
Poured some tea-
Shared a cup with me-
She said I don't want to be involved with you-
Asked her what she means.

Welcome home. She said.
She winked. Again.
Napkin and a pen.
Gave me an address.

Out past the green light,
Past The fairgrounds.
I drive out and around.
And found my self nearly out of gas.
Every light stayed green as I would pass.
There was never any traffic in this town. Or at least none that would last.
Drive past old miss myrtles.
Her house was covered in vines.
She used to leave her window open,
Set there fresh baked pies.
I wonder of she's alive.
I found your house.
Boarded up.
Two men came out.
Undone zippers and button ups.
One laughed and smirked, pretty girl.
Worth every dime.
The veins in my neck popped and i clenched my fists at my side.
You walked out side.

You stood there, so beaten.
It's clear that you've eaten,
Some fists in your life.
You walked back in side.
It's too late to hide,
The black bruises, your eyes.
Don't try and disguise it's too late for make up and lies.
Drugs and money on the table.
Your life's a pond that stands still.
One drop or touch,
And you shake and waver, the flavor is enough.
Holes in the roof.
Teeth on the ground.
Trash and needles,
Radio blaring loud.
Outside traffic.
Busted lips, white noise.
In a crib, a witnessing
little boy.
Thought of you more and more.
Saw a sign, you were what I came home for.
Not your arm full of scars,
Or face full of sores.
All my friends have left and gone.
Numbers lost.
Seems like this whole town is dead.
Every street lights stuck on red.

I have a special talent.
I have the ability to taste peoples personalities.
It sounds weird, I know.
But this is not a fictitious writing.

It happens only on the very first interaction with someone.
Only in person obviously-
Not through text or the phone.

I feel it-
Rather, I taste it in the first words they speak.
The first time our eyes meet.
And in one instance, the first hug.

I guess I don't "taste it"
Its more instinctual-
It almost feels like a memory.
Not like I just imagine it.
Its more like-
When you think someone said your name when they didn't.

Sometimes people taste like the smell of rain.
Some, like salt water.
some, like cloth or toothpaste.
On an occasion-
Sweet Orange Soda.

I guess I don't know if its actually personalities I am "tasting"
It just so happens that the Fellows that taste like burning rubber, or rotten cheese end up being the ones that just cant get along with me.

Its hard not to judge-
When my body does it at the instant.

Maybe its all about mannerisms, and subconscious memories.

Its odd.
Ill stick to my friends that taste like Mint and Orange sodas-
Fruit and cake dough-
Than those-
who taste like moldy bread.

I wrote you-
A postcard.

Sat it by the toaster-
Where I saw your reflection.

I wrote you-
A post card.

I wrote you-
In warm regards.

He slid his picture next to hers.
To dust the spaces beneath it.
Let the corners of the frames touch.
Left them together, to see if she would smile.

Pointless spring cleaning.
Her picture was collecting dust.
He held her name so tight behind his teeth-
He forgot he needed to breathe.

She went into Winter-
But sprung into Spring-
Her Summer was something-
So she fell into fall.

I've been making making excuses to come see you.
To drive out that far.
                                    But.
                                    When will you be the excuse I use-
                                    To come do something else-

Don't spend too much time in the sun-
You can get skin cancer and die.

Don't spend too much time in the snow-
You can get frostbite and die.

Don't walk home alone at night-
You could be murdered and die.

Don't you dare follow your dreams-
You could loose a lot of time and money....

You-
Act like an oil-
But you were made in lead based paint.

You-
Are just the lead, stuck to my wrist-
Smeared on the page.

Life is like a still pond.
It can be ruined and shaken-
by just one drop.

There was a man named Andy.
He was this tall-
Had a beard like a Christmas tree-
He always wore black.

He could see the future-
He used the chirping of  birds as a metronome-
He smelled like peppermint-
He could smell the color yellow.

He was an atheist-
He waited outside catholic schools-
to tell children-
"God is like Santa, he ain't ******' real"

Andy was a liar-
A thief with no teeth-
A ******, a crook-
A homeless **** cook.

Andy.

Come sit, share with me my access company. I'm warmer than that heater, and I can kiss you on your cheek.

Come stand, here with me. Watch the worn floor for splinters. We can dance in the lights that burned out last week.

Come, unplug things here, with me. I don't want to hear the fridge run, because it's steps are louder than yours.

Come, open the window for me. I don't want to look outside because everything looks so ****** after I've seen what's under the sheets.

Come stand, or sit, or dance, or lay.
I don't care what you do, just keep moving, just keep me awake.

The brimstones golden hunger, and leaking thoughts, the creeping delver lingers, haunts. Swelling faith, like flame to moths, truth re echoes like the sting of wasps. Cloaked man, from another land, faultlessly faithful in dying truth. Unhappy sinner, begs for refuge. Stirring again his thin sole shoes.

Your 40th birthday.
A deadly treasure.
To a measure.

No map brought you here.
And no map can take you back.

You wandered the room.
Entered through the doorway.
Fluently floating, and timidly tracing.
Your temporal frame, your transient shape.
Your obsession with perfection and your warm cordial face.

I noticed bite marks on your arms and legs,
they were red and freshly laid.
You shouldn't go where you aren't safe.
The world can be a horrid place.

When I looked into your eyes,
They were dead and  they were cloudy.
I haven't seen or heard a thing scream dread so loudly.
I can see it in your soul, I can see in your consonance.
And if this what your future is, I don't want a part of it.

Orange tea.
Iced waters.
Sliding.

It's 2 am

So sweet.
there are birds, that wish that they were her.

My mom once, when I was eight-
told me about what happens when we die.

She said we forget about our friends and family.
We "become part of the ground and sky".

we forget about our mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters.
Their faces mean nothing.

We don't need anyone.
We don't need each other on the other side.

I guess its okay.
At least you wont be sad.
when you see me in hell,
you wont remember who i am.

Old family pictures,
happier then than now.
Crumpled old receipts from Christmas time,
the spirit of giving, money spent proud.

Too scared to visit, or sit and talk.
to step on cracks in the sidewalk.
scared of dad getting sick.
scared when mother has trouble breathing in the attic.

What i had-
Recently, come lost to me.

Like winter looses warmth-
And the sidewalk looses leaves.

I see them in the trees-
I hope that they miss me.

I know that it sounds desperate-
Its desperate, I agree.

The hazel in her eyes/matched the laces in her dress/I must confess/ that as I undid all the knots/ A thousand thoughts/ rushed through my head/ but i forgot/ how to speak/ so I let my hands speak to your hips/ and my neck adore your lips/ the only kiss/ I could miss/ on a day/ when you'd be away/ I'd beg to stay/ in your arms/ no harm/ would come to pay/ any attention/ to the way/ I hold my most prized possession/ rose red lips/ slender finger tips/ caress me/ the candles lit/ fire in the balcony/ smoke into the sky/ clouding light/ bringing night/ by your side/ I stay inside/ try to hide/ from snow and ice/ getting lost/ lost inside/ again, your hazel eyes.

A deer crossing sign-
Barren trees-
Long dead grass in the ditch.

Tapping of my fingers on the wheel-
Off tempo finger tips.

Imagining a home cooked meal-
My stomach turns and twists.

Lights in the distance-
Rest area, next exit.

Red road-
A deer is spread like my hands across the steering wheel.

Blue skies-
black iced roads-
White hills-
Midwestern winter robes.