A unit of measurement is a definite magnitude of a quantity,
used as a standard for measurement of the same kind of quantity. Any other quantity of that kind
can be expressed
as a multiple of the unit of measurement.

Length,
for example,
is a physical quantity.

Any value of a physical quantity is expressed
as a comparison to a unit of that quantity.

For example, the value of a physical quantity Z is expressed as the product of a unit [Z] and a numerical factor:

Z = n x [Z] = n[Z] So if we were to let Z be “2 antique sofas” then Z = 2[Z] = 2 antique sofas.

Fifteen hundred miles or so,
converts to roughly 7920000 feet
and 48 hours of land
across approximately 29 counties spread through 5 states

However,
in order to measure more abstract concepts,
different units of measurement are often adapted,
or hybridized, to fulfill ad-hoc need.

Coping,
for example,
is an abstract quantity
represented by

American Spirits:
(farenheit, inches, exhaled smoke as measured in cubic feet.)

Tears cried as designated driver
for termination
of unplanned pregnancy:
(miles, cost of service in U.S. Dollar, speed, tear volume in milliliters)

Furniture thrown:
Forces relevant to stable flight include a balance of
Propulsive ******. Lift,
created by the reaction
to an airflow
Drag, created by
aerodynamic friction
Weight,
created by gravity
Buoyancy, for lighter
than air flight

Holes in drywall:
(Inches in diameter and depth, potential bruises to be explained if the wall is ever further away than the human form in a darkened bedroom)

Unfortunately,
some concepts are still devoid of applicable units of measurement.

Take for example, the concept of Waiting.

As it has no defined beginning,
or end, and is malleable based on
external factors such as perceived value
and level of psychosocial dependency,
there appears to be no observable limit
regarding absolute human capacity capabilities.

Perhaps there are 100,000 forms of darkness,
100,000 forms
of what they call depression.
I know one
or two of them.
There is no suffering scale, no way to compare
the suffering of one
human being,
or one illness
to another.

So we hold candlelight vigils
build totems to gather the universe and pull
back clarity around one another’s edges
But I can't burn sage inside me.
It may attract the bad you hide from. Or
is it the good that scares you?

The world beyond the bond
of hearts is a town
without pity.
A dull inhumanity of systems failing the people
we don’t look at.
In this way the brittle tethers of association are tested.

Hand in hand greeting the blackening sky, bearing
down like the face of a missing child’s parents,
staring at one another
knuckles clasp tight.
Your smile the remaining mirror at the end of the world.

If you were here, or I there
I’d be home right now. On the inside
we’re both waiting for one
another still.
Because I’m the same,
but not.

I am ruthlessly forgetful.
Names, birthdays, work schedules.
But I know the way your hair looks in motion.
The way your face looks
refracted through a cigarette ember.
How when your mood shifts,
the church in your eyes
becomes torn, battered, and bare.

If we could just give
another go-round.
It would be different,

Remember,
your best.
Where you are, might
be, may go.
When it used to feel so good.

When a crow dies,
they have been observed to
summon members of their species
and gather around the carcass
as well as cease eating for sometime
following the death.

These effects are most evident
in birds who spend their lives with
a single partner - like
geese or songbirds.
This can sometimes extend
to the remaining partner stopping eating,
then dying itself.

While easy to dismiss
as simply projecting
human consciousness,
and existential dread,
to the grim realities of nature,
there appears to be merit to ideas regarding mourning in wild animals.

As with similar behavior in
human families,
all mammals appear to have internal bonds
to some degree.

For example,
mother chimpanzees have been seen
to carry their dead children around
for weeks on their backs.
Refusing to eat,
or let anything touch their child.
Even as they become mummified by sunlight.

After death, our families
will wash us, just as
we did for the deceased before us.
Then let us lie for awhile, with the house
breathing around our stillness.
Houses are known to take some time
getting used to the idea of our not being around any longer.

It's been postulated,
that which we love lives inside us,
and vice-versa
until there is no longer a vessel
and all pair-bonds are forcibly ended.

Too many nights wasted at coffee shops
burnt hands pulling shots,
across ***** Formica counters.

Talking to boys about their discount tattoos,
and bands that will never be relevant.

They tell me how they’ll change the world,
bring the females along with them
to smash the every glass ceiling.

Within the hour I’ll be rug burned in a dimly lit room
Nicotine tongue telling me it doesn’t normally do this,
but I’ve already come this far.
Fight, or give in,
you’ll still be a dozen miles from home.

A blue eyed story with a faded face,
and a name they never seem to ask for.

We laid there without words
reminding ourselves there is no such thing as nothing.
Laying there we clawed for sounds,
waited for them to crawl from our heads. Useless mouths open and sagging.

I don’t want excuses.
You don’t want apologetics.
Stifle your excuses.
I’ll smother my apologetics.

Tiny, dark room didn’t have a window
neither of us could see a trail
on which to tiptoe
away. Congealed air packed into our lungs, we struggled to exhale.

Distant beats, stumbling all the more closer
Your heart distant and coming closer.

I wanted
to stand in a rush hour turn lane
and kiss you until we both tasted enamel.
Air thick and sweet with the hot scent of living,
knowing we’re dying.

Unfortunately, that particular situation is an impossibility.
An impasse if you will.
My inherent fear of cars,
coupled with a distrust
of horses,
would prevent me from standing in any road
during any point
in the evolution of travel.

So I stay inside.
Listen to another night of the neighbors having ***.
Seeing if this week’s guest star will be
whiskey damp apologies
or just more broken glassware.

Maybe I’ll get naked and play with guns.
Wonder if
my palette is refined
enough to taste new
spit on your smile.

I don’t suppose I could.
There’s no frame of reference.

Lens spray in your glove box suggests he wears glasses,
but very little else.
A glasses delivery system sliding his cigarette stained
hand up your dress in the theater.

Was it because I didn’t care
how much weight you lost
or how many people had been inside you?
Didn’t mind how the backs of your ribs
jutted through your skin into
the lacework of your blouse?

whisper in my ear and tell me you hate me.

Note: Due to formatting issues, I'm unable to provide the correct version of this poem. It was created using text messages, then striking information in the manner of redacted documents. However, that option is not able to be shown on this site. In order to get around this, I'm providing the non-redacted messages for reference. This is not so much a poem, as it is an experimentation with the dissection of language. As a result, part 2 (and That's Worth The Way We Are) has had the post-redaction words removed and placed in a more traditional structure. For the real version, feel free to reach out to me.  - Rollie

“If you ever make your way to Chicago I would love to be your tour guide.”
“I’m sure a tour or something will land there soon enough, so maybe we can go. Also, I stopped at Bell Rd. Dutch and it gave me flashbacks to first driving way out here to hang out with you. So thanks for still knowing me.”
“Thank you for still knowing me. It still shocks me that you’ve managed to stick around with me being how I am.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot.”
“About what?”
“Why you care about me. But you don’t have to go into it.”
“That’s actually something I don’t ever mind talking about. I suppose if you want me to be succinct, then it’s because deep down I don’t think I ever had a choice in the matter.”

“I was worried this one for sure was the time you had decided you hated me. I suppose it still could be ha.”
“I don’t hate you. I’m just stupid and need to stop getting into depressive episodes and stop talking to everyone I know.”
“What caused the depressive episodes? If it’s ok that I ask that is.”
“Living where I do and having things I cared for in this dismal place go to ****. I hate where I’m at now, but at least have my dogs and Fajita.”

“I dreamt about this last night, so I figured I should do it in real life too. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for whatever I did that made you leave again most recently. I hope you stay back this time, and if I’m ******* up please tell me so I can remedy it.”
“It’s nothing you did. It’s 100% me.”

“Want to know what I think about when I’m stressed at work?”
“What’s that?”
“When I came back to Arizona, and you knocked on the door. I was so nervous to open it. But then when I did, you were there. And you just hugged me. And I felt safe.”

“Want to know something?”
“Yes I do.”

“Seeing your name pop up on my social media and text alerts. It really makes me smile.”

“I really have missed you.”
“I didn’t think you’d come back to my life this time. You have no idea how scared I was.”
“I’m sorry I put you through that dear. You are always good to me. I’m the one who is bad.”
“I don’t like it when you call yourself bad or say mean things toward yourself.”
“Well in this case it’s true.”
“Well you were worth the wait. I really hope we can see each other in person at some point soon.”
“I’m hoping March. I like spending my birthday with you.”

“I have a question.”
“What’s that?"
“What made you come back to my life?”

“I never wanted to leave, I just felt I should.”
“Why though? Like what made it happen? It’s got to be more than just the logistics of distance.

“It’s all on me and the way my brain works. I don’t know what happened. I just know I went to a dark place. I haven’t been actually happy here in a long time.”
“Well then I’ll make sure you’ve always got a happy place to return to here.”

“I’d have liked to talk about some things in person instead, but on the off chance I don’t wake up some day, I just wanted to say that I really do miss you and I love you as well. Sorry for everything.”
“I love you and miss you too. I always will.”
“I hope so.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I ruined everything.”
“You didn’t ruin a thing. You exist and I somehow met you. That alone is a miracle I’ll be forever thankful for.”

“I’m really really thankful that when things were at their worst, it never went too far and I didn’t have to bury you. I couldn’t have done it. So thank you for being so strong.”


“You don’t need to thank me for that. I need to thank you for being there for me and helping me through it so I didn’t get to that point.”
“Do me a favor and please outlive me.”
“I can’t promise you that.”
“Then promise to never forget me.”
“I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.”

“I always tell my friends how much I want to go back to Arizona because it feels like Home and it’s where I’m happiest.”

“Can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“What happened? Like with everything? I’m ready to hear it and think it would help me sleep.”
“I got in my own head and started feeling extremely depressed so I isolated myself and when I started getting attention locally, I went with it because I was weak and stupid. I was ****** to you and you didn’t deserve it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Or at least talk about it? We could have talked through things.”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how hard it is to watch from afar?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Did you forget me? Why did you come back?“
"I didn’t forget you. Not once. I was selfish and gave in to the easier option.”
“Then that means you had to have done everything you did while still thinking about me. That’s dark to look at.”
“I was thinking about myself because I’m selfish and awful.”
“Do you understand why it’s hard for me to believe you loved me?”
“I do understand why you feel that way. I’m so sorry. But I did love you. I still do. It was problems with myself. Nothing you did.”
“What problems were those?”
“I’m dodgy and afraid of commitment and make problems for myself. Like things are going amazingly well, so some part of my brain is like
“Hey **** this up.”.”
“It doesn’t seem like you’re afraid of it though.”
“I think I’m not, but when it gets too real I run. I honestly don’t know why I’m like this and I know me saying that doesn’t give you answers and I’m so sorry. I think I’m just a weak human. I’m not strong like you. If you need me to stay away just tell me.”
“No. That’s not what I wanted. Even in my darkest hell, I never stopped loving you.”
“I don’t care how bad it seems. I never stopped loving you either.”

“I wish I could make food for you.”
“I’d cook for you too babe. I make a mean fajita. I miss you a lot.”
"ARE YOU SAYING YOU’RE GOING TO COOK MY CAT?!”
“I would never do such a thing! That’s out of context!”
“Haha, But really I’d love to cook for you or have you cook for me. I miss you too. So much.”
“Come home.”
“I will. I promise babe.”