i.
we both want to get rid of our last names.
maybe that was a sign.

ii.
we always talked about faking our deaths together
curled up on your couch when everyone was
sleeping. i hope you remember what my desperation
tasted like. at midnight i had to go.
like cinderella. but it was wintertime and the pumpkins
were moldy. you never came to my door with a shoe or a question.
maybe that was a sign.

iii.
you chased after her when i was sitting patiently at your feet.
she was joking about an anime i hadn't watched
and you got mad. the joking mad that makes you laugh until
you're red. the way you never got with me. maybe
scared that i'd run. the way you did after her. i know i shouldn't be
jealous, but.
maybe that was a sign.

iv.
i asked you what flavour i would be and you said
raspberry. i never tasted them the same again. you didn't ask me
to tell  you which you'd be, but i told you mango anyway.
who ever heard of a raspberry mango smoothie? one day i
made one. just to see what we tasted like. i could only pick out the
raspberries.
maybe that was a sign.

v.
you got a tarot reading from someone else. i tried not to be hurt, but you never wanted one from me. i was too cut up to ever
ask you why.
you told me what your cards said, and none of them were about me. i guess it's selfish.
but mine are always about you. god, do you even know
how much you break me? i must be addicted to it
because i stay. i stay and stay and stay
even when you get another tarot reading from her.
maybe that was a sign.

vi.
i always texted first. always.
maybe that was a sign.

vii.
i'm the one writing all these poems about you. like we're broken up. you never said the words, and neither did i.
but i'll never forget what the moon told me late that night
when you didn't linger at my door. half past midnight.
i try not to read too much into it, but.
maybe it was a sign.

There’s something for everyone here in this world of ours
and all that anyone really has to do is to put in the hours.
So as to get whatever they may desire or perhaps wish to be;
it’s the same for those who in their efforts try to become free.
______

Trains pass by
Hiding bombs
Waiting to kiss the sky
Of the blue hours
I've been drowning in.

Another pill passing lips
From broken fingertips.
I wonder why my hands died
Before the rest of me could.

Empty monsters
Fill up attics
With my dead friends.

They walk past

Poems

Laughter and

Love

Just as empty by the end
As they were at the start.

So far
Nobody good
Has mentioned
My dead hands.

The drunken ghosts
Whispering to walls
Still blame me
For your death.

And my beauty is blurred
By my dead hands.
And my chest is bruised
By your young death.

And my glass philosophy
Has begun to shatter
Under the light
Of the blue hours
I've been drowning in.

Sand and oh it’s fall,  your formation and mine relate after all!

As the time drifts down
It’s echo swifts round shedding old for the new, yet envisioned my days blue
Scintillating hours, despising what was yours
To making it all mine for “dissolved ME ” could again shine
All those mystical minutes made out of fallen sand hath landed uncharily out of my close clenched hand

I collect all of you here in the bulb of one section,  its all together yet seems like it has lost its direction
Witnessed sand falls united at the apex, if this is the sweetest testimony
You and I never blend together is the bitterest baloney

Sand and oh it’s fall,  your formation and mine relate after all!

21 hours ago
received the message below,
from a fellow poet, here,
now somewhat, more disappeared,
resting in the shady quietude of
Elliot's servers

a mere 21 hours ago,
a thunderbolt telegram
of virtual dots and dashes,
well received

she,
whose name
you have forgotten,
even if you knew it back when
and,
I shan't knowingly now reveal...

perhaps if you were
one of the
multiyear variates,  
still here, still seeking
solutions
to the
equations of the
human formulation,
one of the veterans of the
early word wars,
when the line between fellow poet
and human being was full of
invitational openings,
tween those dots and dashes,
we all eagerly entered those places,
crossing over into
those human openings,
making poets into friends,
yes,
if you webbed here back then,
you may have known her too...

21 hours ago -

"there's a reason
I got to know you,
even though that might
sound silly.
In a way,
you saved me
two summers ago..."
~~~~~~

this message,
teaches me to remember
the power of words
supercharged,
be careful what you
write,
you just might save a
soul...

didn't not ken, well enough
the pressurized curve of her bend,
though read all her private journals,
her thesis academic,
her private ascetic analysis
and poems that milked & masked
the angst of a life
really real hard

today
reread,
tried anyway,
two years of messages

could not feign
the pain
unintentionally recovered
while looking for
clues to myself,
this purported savior

all I recall is
a woman near her ends
woman near no means
but knowing the meaning of
the power drink meaning of
"just going on"
that was dug deep in between,
and how we traded poems
for each other,
and I called her,

daughter

but from now on and within,
when I see a message
time stamped
21 hours ago
I'll be
better ready
for the
explosions of myself