To this day on
I have not thrown away your photos –
they have invaded the closet;

lie in the company of broken navigation
next to the meetings at places that are gone.

Focusing my thoughts:
I believe in wounds healed by time,
not sometime,
but sometime
I forget to take out the trash.

you love me because you want to save me
but im not salvagable...
sometimes garbage is just garbage
and you should let it rot

she was the gem
that shined bright
in your eyes;
but today,
you compared
her with trash

one man's trash,
is another man's
treasure;
perhaps you've
not seen her value,
or you're never a
lapidary to begin with

Dream House
by Michael R. Burch

I have come to the house of my fondest dreams,
but the shutters are boarded; the front door is locked;
the mail box leans over; and where we once walked,
the path is grown over with crabgrass and clover.

I kick the trash can; it screams, topples over.
The yard, weeded over, blooms white fluff, and green.
The elm we once swung from leans over the stream.
In the twilight I cling with both hands to the swing.

Inside, perhaps, I hear the telephone ring
or watch once again as the bleary-eyed mover
takes down your picture. Dejected, I hover,
asking over and over, “Why didn’t you love her?”

Keywords/Tags: dream house, divorce, parting, separation, shuttered, weeds, trash can, mover, movers, moving, rejection, relocation

with mouth wide open
it’s now ready
to spew in your face
the trash of life
it has long
swallowed

Nary an original thought possesses me,

maybe I should become mute?

But then how would I boast about my obnoxious self perceived importance?

My hearts been on the fritz,
It’s been bleeding from all the slits
from taking one too many hits.
this must be as good as it gets
when you lie in your own ****,
this life isn’t one I’ll miss.

You know I never got that kiss
I’ve lived one big swing and a miss
cause I never learned how to mix
that well with others,
just ask my brothers
I fit in with the suckers
living life in the gutters.

Here there aren’t many colors
and even fewer lovers.

Will you be my Valentines?
                                                                                                                 No.


Oh, okay.

You rip my heart out of my chest,
Pink ruffles and all,
And crumble it up.

You swish swish swish it into the trash,
You feel so powerful.

It lays there,
Bottom of the barrel,
Crumpled and beat black and blue.

The pink ruffles are now zig zag bright red.
It wheezes out in desperation.

I scramble to the bin,
Trying to scavenge the leftover pieces.

I pick through the trash,
I look ridiculous,
But I can fix this.

My fingers run over broken glass,
Paper, and even banana peels.

I find it,
The last remnants of my beating heart.

It’s still crumbled up,
But this can work.

I start from image.

I steam press it,
Whisper it sweet nothings,
And kiss it back to life.

It beats.
It beats,
It’s beating.

My heart is alive once more.

Will you be my Valentines?

Yes, heart, I will.