There is nobody to leave you in the sands,
Where you leave yourself and the range of thoughts flows freely,
And the 20 mules are stuffed in some museum--their final gift

There is no place to clean your wounds
Just sand to stunt the bleeding

The Paiute, drunk off cactus and smoking themselves into oblivion

They understood that the desert has no need for sadness
the desert IS sadness.

Searching for what? Food? It's all spiked and scared of you out here--
No love on this plane, just in the shape of things

The nick of *****

The bleed of seed

The dream

Eternity.

You've been offline for 16 minutes
I could have said it, but I didn't
I had it written, but I didn't send it
I'm kind of a coward, I'll admit it.

I couldn't fit it in a space that I thought you would read
I had a tendency to ramble when you listened
or pretended, and in the poems that you've never seen
it's just as bad,
I go careening through a bending path of bramble
tryna scramble to the point
but I lost you
neck deep in the prose that arose
around a metaphor packed to the brim
with condescending tid bits
where I use your words against you
but a heavy weight that sits
over it all, when I lost the only friend I can talk to

so let me spend the next half hour
showering over you
another lesson in epistemology
honestly I don't know how you could be
so dim to miss what I've put in to this

Do you not see how wrong you are

Does it bother you
To have every miss step
pounced on and deconstructed
I was talking down
just to knock it through your thick head
but I guess I ****** it
I'll just have to say it angrier now

Let me spend the next two months convincing you
whatever you had seen in me was through a lens
I didn't deserve to be seen through
All it took was losing you to see
I'm exactly where I should have ended up

I know that no apology
will unwind the web I spun. the web I sit on now
to watch what I've undone with my own hands.
Hands that even now subside in fear
of what I'd hear then in your voice
when you reply
to let it die

So I'll let it die
I'm sorry

Strum the strings and spill my soul
Little things; they make me whole
Lovely line,
She said I’m fine,
Never thought of what she stole
Click the keys and tell my tale
Wring my hands and grip the rail
Too tight, not right,
Don’t speak tonight,
Just freeze and hold your crook and flail
Turn it up and make a scene
Steal the crown and say you’re Queen
Can’t erase
Your perfect face
Project your image to the screen
So I grasp my charm like it’s an ax
Used to fend off their attacks
Slashed with words
Still unheard
Now it’s time to face the facts...

At this misty morning scene,
Traces of winter were seen:
The trees were embraced by mist,
A lovely sight I had missed,
Adorned with dew were the leaves,
Seeing how the morning leaves.

I gaped from the shock,
As I stare at your eyes, now,
How are we to know?

Now, wearing older faces,
Never thought we’d meet here.
Looks like a love story.

You looked at me,
Like you’ve never seen me this way before.
But, I look at you with a familiar glimmer.

I forced not to smile,
As I held both my cold hands,
And stood there with my sweaty feet.

I failed to remember words,
It ate me instead.
You glanced back, and bid your goodbye.

Somewhere long ago,
We’ll we know?
How’d it go, if this is still yours?

I’ll have to (let you) know.