Towards the end, there was The Good Place inside of The Dying Place.

The raven watches silently.

You were drifting on waves of Ativan while I vaped in the courtyard before I flipped the mouse card. Lotioning your feet—now yellowing.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said to the nurse. “But here, take this” as I handed her the phone I yanked from the wall.

No more distractions, please.

An advance copy on a projector screen. Downton Abbey in The Dying Place. You couldn’t believe it. But you also couldn’t stay awake.

Nowadays when I say “calzone”
I’m actually saying “can I have another year on loan?”

When I think about bourbon in the rainbow-speckled glass, it’s a sip-by-sip plea to get those years back.

Alas…

I hold your hand.
The dolphin returns.
I kiss your head.
The mouse rests.
One last breath.
And the raven's wing lifts.

Blood flooded my cheeks at 5 am. A frozen farewell kiss from Saint Joe while I’m scraping snow from my window. Shield me from the crushing pain, I think to myself. My brother waves.

And off I go.

In this new chapter, a stranger is singing in the shower. His cat shedding everywhere. The beasts of the southern wild are howling at the fireworks outside. Because they just want to crawl into a quiet corner and die. Peacefully. Like little bodies in sleeping bags. These makeshift beds were the beginning of the end.

I digress.

I’m a roommate now. A divorcee. And when he’s out working I’m alt-j laundry loading and making a snack. As if some chèvre and crackers could ever muster the gusto to drop-kick this depression attack. Can’t afford the meds so I grab a coffee with a philosopher. That should do the trick.

Nope. I got Žižeked to death.
What a mess.

I drive back home just to have you put your back N 2 it. And when you try to tongue and groove me, I recoil. Your ******* cat coughs up a hairball when you kick me out. Then he looks up with cloudy eyes and I realize: OkCupid is a terrible place to find a housemate.

Beginners mistake.

“i’m sorry
for promising
more than i was
ready to give”
he said
& then
shook my
******* hand

i’m too broken
too much to bear

so string me up
on a fence
& staple to my chest
a warning

“you deserve better”
another one claims
as he pulls away

my damage
sets fire to the chorus
chokes the refrain

if
one
more
man
says
“i can’t give you
what you need” . . .

it’s going to be
a fuckawful
s   c   e   n   e

now, i’ve come
to accept
& wholeheartedly
concede

i am a ripe
swollen shape
so give me
deep space
or make it fatal
when the next
hammer swings

but first, it was the sun
scooped up by small glass
immolating ants in the tall grass
set free

then hiding out in the basement
striking 10,000 sticks
mesmerized by the shimmer
until it kissed my fingertips

how did i not burn our house down?

the mysterious charm
becomes mere utility
on the farm
burning copper
for a few dollars
the tower of black smoke
reaches out like
a dystopian arm

then a wood-burning stove
to escape two feet of snow
on the chocolate sofa
where my words
(not the heat)
left our home in flames

the matchbook
is nothing if not
mundane
these days

just two sticks
of incense
one morning
one night

a lonely ceremony

an occasional candle
whose light i want to
scoop up
& wash over me

I take Eli by the hand and lead him toward the tattered door. “No one’s around. Let’s go in.” The thrill. Was it? Empty pews and stained glass glow. Past the alter to a secret corridor. The shallow pool. To lay our bodies. Disrobed and divine. Baptism. Was it? His pinkening cheeks. The shrill of a trapped bird on the sill. Or was that the sound of our release? A sticky truth in the holy halls. We rest. And breathe. Rinse it all down the drain. Salvation. Was it?