it was not so long ago
you were showing me
that burned out stage
by the river where the
hobos had set up camp, with
their **** magazines
and other treasures.
hat day, we were becoming
the intruders as opposed
to the intruded.

we had come there, though,
for a purpose that i know so
well but can't seem to recall.
i know we had both made up
our minds about, at least,
one thing.

i remember agreeing with
everything you said when
you stopped smoking.
i remember saying the
same thing when you
stopped stopping.

i remember you said you
would visit sometime
during the summer.
when summer came,
and you didn't, i stopped  
stopping or something.
and kept smoking.

i was thinking to you
in my head, "now you,
too, are gone." and i
secretly, still, hope
you understand it now
like you did
back then.

understand.


when we left the stage,
one of us said something
about the hobos
understanding
our curiosity.

i'm not sure
either one of us
has gotten
over it.

i split the pill like
it was the *******
atom or something.

i was about to scrape
the dust off of the counter
into my hands, to preserve
what i knew as pure,
to save it for when i needed
to remind myself i was
still there.

the doctor who gave them
to me wasn't really a doctor,
but there was this guy in the place
that would agree with everything
that she said.

and maybe i wanted to believe,
too.

it is so much easier to be
a cynic when you have a
diagnosis to back it up. it
is so much easier to make
them feel guilty when you
say words like "clinical
depression."

i could always chalk it up to
"i just haven't taken my meds."

i was splitting the atom
and i was remembering
my excuses and how i
wouldn't be needing them
anymore, how it might be
awhile before i can imagine
something else so brilliant.

we were given the best
of each other or, at least,
that was the agreement.

we are both guilty
of something,
either way.

having burrowed out a grave
underneath your sheets, i still
feel safe inside the warmth
of your existence.

i have tied a noose around
our mouths, so that we won’t
ruin such art
with words.

and you cry, as if it will
matter after we have
settled the scores and
the blame.

your tears erode my skin
away into rivers, floating
down our (for now)
melted form.

i will stay until morning.
i will stay until morning.

and we will wash
away our sins
in clearer waters.

even if age meant more
than a number, if it
meant wisdom and
common sense.

i will come up
short, either way.

these are the years
for believing in people
who shouldn't be believed
in.

i will file this page
under regret and
wonder.

i told her she didn't want
to get involved, but she
told me that she was
going to be,
anyway.

and i was a little
relieved that someone
had gone through
the trouble of making
that decision
for me.

you scare me to death,
like i'm the one to be
scared.

but when you show me
that part of your thigh
that you haven't shown
to that many people,
i start sectioning off
my body with the tiny
pencil i keep in my
nightstand to
keep score.

i told her she knew
she'd regret it.

i knew i could
prove her wrong
if i wanted.

i've written too many
poems about how
unhappy i am,
or can be,
or was.

i've written too many
poems about not
believing in myself,
or being uncertain of
myself
or being my own cynic.

i've told you too many
times that i miss you,
or that i need you,
or that i want you.

i think i've bored you,
or removed you,
or misled
you.

i've written too many
poems and i'm sorry,
or unafraid,
or already forgiven.

we were no better
than the dirt that clung
to our feet, as we ran
away from what was important.

we were dumb to the ways
of a limitless God with a
venemous wrath.

and we laughed.
as he was killing us.

we thought we had tricked
everything we had known
to exist. and that we were
all that was infinite and all
that was holy.

and all that was right,
as i sat with you,
balancing our weight
between earth and sky,
what you and i knew to be
love and ultimately
indifference.

they will say that we were
all blind, walking around as
if we saw something that
nobody else could.

because we were that great.
and we got it all wrong.