There is a tree in my room.
It sheds leaves
that look like everything I have ever lost.
I put them in bags and
take them outside to burn,
as if it would stop the leaves
from falling all together,
but I know they’ll be back.

You are the ghost of all the people
I have loved
and been loved by,
that feeling I get when I remember
what it felt like to be touched by someone
who meant it.

You are the fear
when I realize I destroy
most things I touch
and am unworthy of ever
learning to say your name.

You are a poem that my weary hands
have yet to learn how to write.
They tremble with so many words
wanting to bleed out.

You are the empty spot
in my bed
when there is so much room
that it aches.

You are a planet full of
beautiful things
I have never seen,
so many light years away
that I could not possibly
scale or comprehend the distance.

I am tired.
My heart can’t trace your shadow
for much longer.

You must be near?

there's something to be said about
the time it takes for words to
formulate, make their way
all the way down to the tiptips of our tontongues,
I savor the ringing silence that comes
after the bitter ones leave, the after-taste of
arguments and the residue left from things I didn't mean.

if I could I'd pour nectar down my throat and
speak in whispers only in whispers and then
quiet quiet
quiet
down, I'd
whisper,
quiet down.

the air bites at my nose
like an icy mosquito,
and raindrops plop onto
the roof and the giant
green, car-shaped tarp.
beads adorn the pointed
branches of the conifer
like tiny, fleeting noses;
they leap from their
makeshift perches into
the frosty darkness
of the garden below,
joining their brethren,
already pooling together.

I wish I could see you in the deeper blue
tangled in strings, caught by your favorite song
pure
I'm afraid of lies, now

You should know after all this time that I bear my feelings very easily
that I'm learning how to close myself up bit by bit
for the things that earn it
too late, after I'm hurt
I'd say you've earned it

And I'm sorry
I don't want to lose you
I'm cold from the dry beatings
low blows
numb mornings

pinpricks away from happiness and I can't feel

pinpricks
the needle
he's cold, hard, and tempting

you're cold in ways I don't understand
with panoramic views
(prime real estate)
you're silver and gold, fighting inside your skin
aren't we all?
I'm tired of humans


This place in my head -
it's the needle ready to puncture my heart
it's the bits of an iced-over creek that are still running,
waiting to pool up, freeze, and crack

the leaf that's falling waiting to be trampled

I wish I could fall away so easily

rage overflows the normal decent heart
breaking  the rule of ordinary mind
to take us right back to a sorry start

where we are governed by no common art
of ancient orders that were never kind
rage overflows the normal decent heart

once each has learnt that justice will depart
with no conclusion save the one designed
to take us right back to a sorry start

ensuring that  all of our limbs will smart
while we'll be stuck more deeply in the bind
rage overflows the normal decent heart

while all the  good and kindly fall apart
and the best choices have now been declined
to take us right back to a sorry start

where those who gather do not give a ****
for what should matter and the world seems blind
rage overflows the normal decent heart
to take us right back to a sorry start