Celsius to Fahrenheit
they took each other's measure.
While you walked half the distance,
I got lost along the way.
I succumbed to ******* frostbite--
it was not a point of pleasure.
Meet me at minus 40
if you've got a thing to say.

Hang icicles from buildings.
Hang a frown on one long face.
Hung my hat on losing hands
                                            we'll
hang up halfway through this call
and I'll directly start to hate this place.
Heap reasons on these question marks.
Hot coffee, honey cruller.
Split the check, we'll split the difference--
               Celsius to Fahrenheit
       I fought through the conversion

Then I fought my way into a much worse place.

if an inalienable sky
in Sochi bid Rasputin
and this heartsick river meander their menagerie
that tears have gulped there afield but his unfolded fox
to envision inland still dies in repose
and their dire exposé
only mischievous pleasure
now a junta on Capitol Hill

i've seen
these walls
i've felt i've known
no change
and now here
barely breathing
i close my eyes
but seconds
later
the world remains the same

i lie
sedated
as i learn:
my fear
has held me back
in one way
and another

desires –
they are packed like sardines

a year
of wonder
aptly wasted;
not one
but two
abandoned dreams;
directions
bent half-
heartedly;
responses
mass-
produced

;
yet
our debt
exceeds them
all

Hotel rust, shimmers under florescent blankets
Each family huddled together
"There's meant to be some change in your life."
Yet there is still no warmth

Boarded up windows, broken glass
Turn of the century they said,
Yet the apathy still hasn't come to pass
This is ground zero

Dead men are shuffling,
Gun fire is jamming,
They are not really zombies,
Only seas of blank stares.

Viral visual can be alarming.

"Get to the high ground! It's the only way to survive!"

On the roof tops realizing,
You seem to be the only one alive.

the kitchen darker
your steps
planned with precision

amounts of time
pass quietly
but changes
are a different breed

the coffee mugs abandoned
still know my lips
better than yours
the humming stove
is singing songs
you used to sing to me

each day
your broken heart
collects tiny
atrocities
each day
the lamps lose more of their
forgotten dream
to shine