Rob's father came up to him on his eighteenth birthday, and tossed a *** of cash at him. "Time to be a man", he said in his usual gruff manner, "Get yourself a hot one".  His grinning face seemed more like a sneer, but Rob wasn't all that surprised. Throughout his adult life, he was thankful and glad that his mother kept him fairly grounded, did the best that she could, molded him into the man that he was, and he marveled at how she put up with such an *******.

Her name was Kat, but there were no introductions, not while he was soliciting her for ***. She was a few years older than he, but Rob never asked for any details.  He just wanted to get on with it, for he felt not only awkwardly nervous and ill-prepared, but halfhearted in his approach to buy some time, to hook up with a stranger in the shadows of the street lamps.  

Sure, if his old man wanted to give him some money—free cash—why the hell not? Instead of finding a "hot one", Rob was face-to-face with a burned-out and vulnerable, young woman who tried to hide behind her ****, seductive exterior. She was equally as halfhearted as he was about getting it on, for business-as usual seemed to weigh her down like a heavy chain wrapped about her ankles

So Rob opted out of this whole thing. He asked if he could buy her a cup of coffee. Why not? It was a chilly night, and they wanted to warm up—in  a legitimate way.

They found a small, late-night diner. It wasn't long before Kat admitted she made a huge mistake, and would do anything to get another start. Her regret was leaving Nebraska, leaving her hometown—her mom, her little sister and brother left behind. Her father was the dearest man she ever knew, but he died when she was eleven-years-old. If only he could see her now. She would be so ashamed to face him, and glad he wasn't around to witness this sordid path she regretfully chose.

Once, Nebraska seemed like an insignificant blot on the map of the world, but now it was inviting to her. She longed to make amends to her family and to get back to the basics.  She wasn't sure what she would do with her life, but what she had right now wasn't what dreams were all about. It was a world of unscrupulous pimps and men who lurked around, wanting their fill, their lusts exposed discretely, yet so ****** upon her to be met.

She had enough. Rob was the first guy that came along in a long time that really cared to listen to her, though he seemed more a boy than a man. Yet she's been with his kind before. She has seen all kinds—white and blue collar, old and young, married and single, the well-experienced and the sexually inept, the *** addicts and first-timers, the boring, the daring, the *****—yet safe ones—as well the creepy kind that a street-smart lady needed to have eyes in the back of her head for.  

When they went to the bus station, together, Rob admitted, "I got to tell you, straight. I'm still thinking you could be scamming me for drug money...and I'm maybe a complete *****... but I want to take this chance." Kat smiled, a tender sort of a smile, and gave him a soft peck on the cheek, along with a big bear hug. "You're an angel", she declared. She really was beautiful, with big, lovely eyes surrounded by big, fake lashes.  Seen through eyes of his inexperience—his innocence—she really felt beautiful, something she hasn't felt in a long while.

Kat wanted to pay Rob back for giving her the needed, extra money to buy her ticket. She offered to do that in the best way she knew how and made him an offer. Having a night of free *** wasn't what Rob ever wanted. No, there were no strings attached. So she jotted down her mother's address in Nebraska, and told him to be in touch. "I want to prove to you that I'm turning my life around. I'm going to do it, too. I promise", she said, sincerely. She had no trouble looking him in the eye, tears beginning to well up, and she began to choke up while saying, ”I just can't thank you enough".

Whether he did the right thing or not, Rob would wonder. He would never forget her—even if he wanted to forget. Only a brief couple of hours with her, but she made an impact in his mind, like a branding iron that would sear the hell out of his brain. Later, he lied to his dad, and pretended to be thrilled that he got the chance to have such an awesome night—just rocking! It was the best birthday present so far!  For a moment, he thought of telling him the truth, but he pictured his dad saying, "You *****! You wasted your chance and my money!"

Rob decided that he wasn't going to write her. He just didn't want to know, instead wanting to assume she made it out okay. He decided to keep the paper with her address, anyway. It took him several months, after mulling it over in his mind, to actually write her a brief note to ask how she was managing. Did she really go back home? Was she doing alright? Did she put her ****** life behind her?

It was only a week when he received a letter back from Nebraska. Rob kept that letter to himself, never telling a soul about Kat. She was back with an old boyfriend from high school, staying with her mom and working part-time as a cashier in a supermarket. She was so eager to write him back, thrilled that he finally contacted her, and wondered why on earth it took him so long.  Rob believed her, like he first did about her story, and it was a relief to hear from her.  He was glad he took the chance. It seemed to pay off.

He heard nothing back from her until over a year later. This time she sent a picture in her letter. Kat and her boyfriend broke up, for the second time, but she was now married to her good friend's cousin, Nolan. She was glad it didn't work out with the first guy, because now she was pretty happy and couldn't imagine her life any other way. Rob smiled as he saw the picture of the couple, and she was holding her little girl in her arms. He name was Willow, a cute, little girl with strawberry blonde hair.

Thanks, again, Rob! It is all because of you! You’re a sweetheart. My hero!!!

He didn't want to take the credit. He was no hero. It was bound to happen, with or without him.  Rob was quite sure now that he would not write her another letter, but did pick up a card to congratulate her, to acknowledge he got the good news and was glad for her.

He still had that picture of her, and the last news he found out about Kat is that she moved to Colorado with her husband, and now had a son, Nolan Rob. Her husband got a better paying job, and she felt at home near the mountains. A picture of the kids came with it, and her two smiling children conveyed the innocence that she once had and cherished.

Wanted you to see my boy. His middle name, Rob, is after you! I figured you'd know this, but I want to tell you, anyway! :D Much love from us to you, Robbie!

Time has passed, and during that back-and-forth.  Rob's parents split up, sold the house, and he had graduated from college and was on his own. Contact with Kat waned down to nothing at all, and it probably was just as well. Were things still going good in her life? Rob still wondered and hoped so.

Now he was married, with a nice house and boy and girl of his own, thinking of Kat, now and then. He envisioned her doing well, a far cry from the young woman in a scene that replayed in his head, a night when he helped an unhappy and desperate lady get a chance to find her life, again. If ever his day ******, such thoughts could pick him back up.

He'd never cease to wonder about her, but what he did for Kat belonged in the past.  If it wasn't happily-ever-after for her, he'd rather not know.  He did his part, was glad that he had enough maturity and integrity to do the right thing, but no way was he a knight in shining armor.  Still, he was a hero in her eyes, a reluctant hero of sorts. He could live with that.

Estranged in summer rains'

       landscaped  dissolution

       evincing season's discontent

      neath sun's suffocating alienation;

used to rhyme with warmth

             and effulgent delectation,

   emotional realms fizzled in a

              heated  halfhearted sizzle

            of down-pour's restless manifestations

"I'm fine," she says with a halfhearted grin.
"I'm fine," she says again, waving away a helpful hand.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, several minutes later.
"I'm fine," she whispers, wiping her face.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she says moments after the cry leaves her lips.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, sinking to the floor.
"I'm fine," she tells herself, shaking in a ball.
"I'm fine," she repeats, picking up the razorblade.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she says to her concerned family.
"I'm fine," she insists as those who love her worry.
"I'm fine," she says to anyone who listens.
"I'm fine," she lies as she slices her wrists.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she cries, sobbing on the bathroom floor.
"I'm fine," she wails, but only in a whisper.
"I'm fine," she mutters, watching the blood leave her wrist.
"I'm fine," she practices, stepping from the room.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she assures the world outside.

Personality problem monumental
Attempts to change inconsequential

Learning to care
A constant struggle

Desperation to scream
Producing nothing but mumbles

A freshly broken heart
Can make one so humble

Mind pollution
No abatement

Dissolving solution
Emotional Contagion

Recycled love
Halfhearted statements

Am I enough?
Romantic damnation

What do you do at 3am when you're tired and bored and its raining?

Maybe this is punishment.
For eating those grapes before you paid for them in Sainsburys.
Or that time you forgot who Buzz Aldron was, or when you took pleasure at beating a five year old at Cluedo.
She started crying, and even then, you still
would not relinquish your title.
Maybe its for that time
You were accidentally racist  to the chinese guy taking your order.
Or when you forgot to buy your mum a birthday card, or when you made fun of your best friend for not being taller.
Or when you said, 'Maybe
selective breeding in humans,
Is not such a bad thing after all.'

Yes, Its definitely punishment for that.

But maybe its for all the litter you've dropped, inadvertently or on purpose.
Or for last week when you accidentally kicked the cat, or for stealing those library books,
For swearing at kids
and blaspheming at the dinner table,
Christ!
Maybe its for nicking your brothers chips, even when you're not really that hungry.
For halfhearted apologies handed out like office stationary, for scoffing at most modern art.
For not revising when you
Really, really should
...But telling your parents you are.

But even with all of this, isn't the punishment, just a little bit too harsh?

Well now you are sarcastic, and bitter and pessimistic at least 90% of the time.
And you do hide the fact that you quite like country music, and that you have a blanket with sleeves (and you genuinely use it) and that you're really rather patriotic at heart.
And you didn't say all that stuff when you should have.
And you said all that other stuff you didn't mean
And you spend far too much of your time
Invested in impressing the people you're never going to see again.

And you realize all of this... at three o'clock in the morning, alone but for the fading of the rain.

And you swear to yourself, with all the fervour of a tired insomniac. That tomorrow.
There. Will. Be. Change.
But in the cold, harsh light of nine o'clock the same day. Six hours after you fell asleep. You resign yourself to the fact that last nights punishments can all be absolved, by a nice warm cup of tea.
And despite what you say
at 3am when you're tired and bored,
listening to the sound of the rain.
You will always be a pessimistic idiot, with delusions of grandeur.
That watches too much American TV.

1.
I feel
fractured      splintered         defeated
entirely insular
and spread to thin
all at the same time
covered with insecurities
like a cheap suit
or hollow exoskeleton
nothing more than a lie.      I grow tired.
I'm bluffing my way through this life
a brutal honesty
I lack the courage to accept
hiding my face
from every mirrored surface
a halfhearted attempt
to prolong this detrimental denial.
I can't ******* my way
through self-reflection
and trying to improve my image
feels positively improvised.
I lack sincerity and authenticity
an individual breathing without zeal
I need a break.
2.
Here I am again a lonely itinerant migrating
to the proverbial and often visited crossroads
rather than contemplating
a direction worth navigating
be it following in the worn footprints of others
or a path long overgrown with neglect.
I'd rather lie down on the gravel road
and nap in the open air
just to wake up confused and temperamental.
The destination remains unknown
my indecision remains intact.
I give impetuous a bad name
by reputation and repetition alike
conjoined twins that speaks to
fate and circumstance.
Like Houdini
I'm secured in a long sleeve shirt
dangling upside down from a burning rope
placing blame on the flame.
I need a break.
3.
I'm not as intelligent
or insightful as I once thought
my wasted youth is a testament.
A modern ruin
like so many a Blockbuster
I've outlasted my usefulness.
I imagine what could have been
clueless as to what lies ahead.
A jovial repentance
seems as likely as
success, or stability, **** simplicity.
Is it all too much to ask?
I've been on break too long.
4.
reboot       jumpstart
Alleviate my stagnant, vacant lot in life
and cast off these first world problems.
Consider not the flat champagne
or the distance that separates
today from death.
Speak positively to the people
that would not otherwise attract minimal attention.
Set goals both grand and plausible
with no worry of dividends
and release cynicism
and determine a trajectory
that I may see through to completion.
If for no other reason
but to say that I tried.
It's not so bad this imagined and dire circumstance.
Relax and go on break.

I haven’t been playing my guitar as of late
and it’s not because I’ve lost interest- I still
love the same musicians I did before and I’d love
nothing more to be able to play like them.
I’ve picked it up a couple times in the past
three months and I’ve found that even though
I know exactly what chords to play and where
all the notes are that once made me happy,
it ends up sounding off and halfhearted;
that happens when you don’t press down
between the frets hard enough.

I didn’t realize that I was so afraid
of holding onto something since you left

Swimming away from me. In a sea of broken promises, endless hurt, blood and black and blue. Turn the key and lock the door, throw it to the floor. Cry some more. Towards the open ocean, towards the choice you’ve chosen. I’ll never find you, not here, not there. And I’ve nothing left to give but a bitter grin. I’ll find the color jade and make it in my own way. Sharp and jagged edge to deter anyone else from half-assed attempts to sew the pieces back together and make me whole again

Our wilier webs
woven with the distractions of self-absorption
can come to feel
cheated if we use them
only for halfhearted games of catch
and eventual release.
He’d overlooked that part.
Then there was an obligation to prey
who so willingly strayed upon the taffy
pull of his sweet and sticky strands.
The scrunch up of their wee faces
squeaked, “We deserve
to have our glued-down expectations
met with a most gruesome expertise.”
He’d just wanted to watch them
struggle a smidge,
at first.
It was a test if this muscle the scribes
ascribe as rightly plagued by pangs
was in him
perhaps despicably defective.
With each tripper-by trapped
the examinations grew
more tortuously complex,
and when none raised even
the slightest murmur of a palpitation,
he gave the web its dripped-dry due,
at last.
“The murderous truth will out,”
they say. It did, monstrously.
Now his bound but gagless masques
are always well-attended.

What makes you feel better
Than long walks at night,
A lung's breath of cold air,
Inklings of dreams and aspirations
With a halfhearted plan to get there.

i swallowed the
bathroom mirror whole
threw an entire bag
of lemon drops
into the highway and
danced on someone else's grave
in a failed attempt at
self-acceptance.

it's hard
to shatter the
saccharine sweet
taste of personal hate
sticking to my hands
like half melted wax.

i've almost
given myself permission
to fail
but not yet.

hasn't it been
stovetop memories
a couple haircuts
and one hell of a year?

scratch the back of my
neck
in a halfhearted attempt
to forget
and i'll take up burning
aluminum pillows
like i took up
loving myself.

One year older
No more wiser
Aging an inevitability

Unwanted
like rain in summer
or a scuff on a new pair of shoes

A day for celebration
should be a day for mourning
black veils and chrysanthemums
a footstone for the grave

A retailers delight
for card companies and cake shops
not for halfhearted smiles
or aging discontent

For me, just another day

One year older
no more wiser
aging an inevitability

Cinnamon sonogram

Detect the abnormalities too late.

Morning after birth of

a placebo placenta.

Irrigate the porcelain

of a lost labor laboratory.

Love found not within the arms of

the golem grasping for straws.

-

Wailing a harmony of blue and red.

Pumping panacea.

Steady the pace, you hotheads

with elegant electric veins.

On Monday she sung so sweetly and

whispered her prophet tales.

Saturday appeared as an echoing,

hollow and halfhearted hymn.

-

They retreat in rebellion;

lapping at salt laced lacerations.

Rye, grain, roots, and grapes

for the Baroness of the Barrens.

Weeping waters leads to the

sleeping daughters that dangle

their threats like fishing hooks

off of the edge of a world so flat.

I feel sad again
I don't know why

I play around with it in my head
But there's still no reason why

Maybe it's because I fail at all I try
Maybe it's because I am not special
Maybe it's because I'm too weak
Maybe it's for no reason at all
Maybe my outlook is simply too bleak

Suicide; I haven't thought of how
In a long time
Suicide; I have thought of  when
Maybe now

It seems as good a time as any
But how to do it?
The choices again are too many.

I tried it once and failed
(Story of my life)
A halfhearted attempt derailed

I am sad again
I don't know why
I am deep
Below the sky

Help!
I shout
In my head
Help!
I never shout
Out loud
Again why?

Oh let me cry
I want to weep but I can't
And here again WHY

I feel alone
My heart beat frozen
I want to show how I feel
On the out side
But it never seems right
I am a in a solo fight
Again
WHY?

I'm heavy and fat
But I hate the heavy feeling that stops my simile
But I hate the heaving feeling that keeps me in bed
I hate the heavy feeling hovering all the while
I hate the heavy feeling that's rotting my head.
I'm fat and I hate it but I'm sad and I hate it more
This heaving feeling I abhor

Am I rotten?
Am I rotting?
I don't see the point
Is there one?

I am sad
Again
I don't know why

The pain is too much and has been going on for far too long
Good things never last and bad things find a way to stay
I feel abandoned and alone
I feel like I have no home

Lost in a dark forest
It's black and all around are the screams of who I used to be
In the distance I see a tall black tree
On it a rope
I tie it around my neck and set myself free

I have become the ocean of bad ideas and halfhearted attempts that laps at your shores and beckons for you to come and get your feet wet, wading in the tides. Won’t you come in for a swim? My sharks don’t bite much, unless they’re angry and the jellyfish aren’t poisonous until they find you naked and exposed. My surging waves surround the tiny island of your reason and become all that you see because I’m all you’re looking for at this moment...you’ve blinded yourself to better opportunities…I am the truth you won’t face or find out about until later. You know what I’m talking about lady. I’m the tattooed “Bad Boy” sitting across from you, the one who excites you. The one you can’t take your eyes away from long enough to see the “Good Guy” sitting in the corner.

****** Mary sunset
Soft tequila sigh
Ivory teardrop tumbler
Disregarded sky

Street breeze through the window
Kettle on the stove
Chopin in the parlor
Empty pack of cloves

Resonance of redwood
Essence of the earth
Shrine to Mother Mary
Sacred ****** birth

Portraits on the table
Gazing toward the floor
Cobwebs in the dresser
Tucked behind closed doors

Violins descending
From the upper room
Dissonance impending
Lost in worry’s womb

****** Mary sunrise
Flower pillow sigh
Alka Seltzer tumbler
Halfhearted goodbye

A cursed affliction of the heart

A human condition that drives us hither

And thither chasing a ghostly calling

On a restless search for mirages



We are all actors

Playing our role

Said a great sonnet writer

We use to quote platitudes



But what of those who wander

A crossroad of diverging futures

Where one role does not satisfy

Their boundless hopes and desires



A poet one moment

A grave digger the next

Who shovels mud in the darkness

And finds meaning in the light



A role fit for a novel maybe

Or at least a bad play

Starring unknown faces

Gesticulating to an empty theatre



Some find solace behind the pages

Of a tattered copy of  Crime and Punishment

Leading a vicarious life of alcoholics and whoremongers

And some become what they don’t read



Blessed is the mind whose devotion

Is pure, untainted by the spectre

Of what is and what could be

Charting a singleminded road that plods on



To heights heavenward

To places unexplored

In a narrow field of vision

Towards a sunlit horizon



And not be stuck in the bogs

Of indecisive action

Of halfhearted measures

In a dreary haze of possibilities



But it’s only a cosmic joke one would say

For why did the Almighty in his wisdom

Make a world so vast and beautiful

Our ambitions so conspicuously lofty

And our fleeting lives so very inadequate?

MY DARKEST DESIRE COULD IGNITE ALL OF HELL’S FIRES.
WITH MY SELF-SERVING ACTIONS THAT TWIST ALONG MY JADED INTENTIONS. MY DARKNESS HIDES IN PLAIN SIGHT AND WILL NEVER BE MENTIONED.
OUR EYES MET THROUGH A CASCADE OF STRANGERS, MY DEMON INSTINCTIVELY RECOGNIZING YOUR OWN.

IT’S UNNERVING THIS KIND OF LOVE..
UNKNOWN TO MOST AND INTIMATE WITH EVEN LESS.
DESCRIBED ONCE AS A LOVELY AFFECTION THAT CAN CUT BONE GIFTING A LINGERING CHILL.

PURE FREEDOM IS WHEN YOUR EVIL EXPERIENCES ANOTHER’S..
WICKED PLEASURE.
BOTH FIENDS WELD TOGETHER TINY PIECES OF THEIR HEART. A BOND CREATED OVER THE FIRST WICKEDLY SHARED SCANDAL. LINKING ONE TO THE OTHER FOR ETERNITY-PURE UNDYING FREEDOM.

THERE IS NOTHING AS TRULY FREE AS BEING YOUR ABSOLUTE WORST VERSION: THE NIGHTMARE YOU.
KNOWING THERE WILL NEVER BE LINES DRAWN OR REPERCUSSIONS FOR CREATING CHAOS IS LIBERATING. IT’S OBSESSIVELY TEMPTING ALL YOUR THOUGHTS. EVEN WHEN YOU YOURSELF KNOW NOT TO WREAK HAVOC.

EVERYTHING IS ALWAYS AN OPTION WHEN BEING CATASTROPHIC WITH SOMEONE REFLECTIVELY FRIGHTENING. THERE ARE NO SHAMEFUL SECRETS, HALFHEARTED LIES, OR EXPECTATIONS. IT’S INSPIRING.
MY SHADOW SELF WAS WORSHIPED AND EMBRACED FOR IT’S WILD WICKEDNESS.

YOUR DEVIL IS IMPOSSIBLY SATED AND CONTENT WITH THIS FRESHLY ALTERNATIVE HIGH. BUT THERE IS ALWAYS A SECRET TO TELL, A PROMISE TO BREAK, AND AN ITCH TO SCRATCH.
LIKE ALL MONSTERS, MINE WANTS TO LEARN, NAY IT CRAVES! TO CONQUER THIS SEDUCTIVELY STRANGE SIN.

ALL SKELETONS OF EVIL LEARN THEIR WAY AROUND THUNDERSTORMS OF CHARCOAL RAINBOWS. A DARK DEFORMED BOW IS A TRUE IDOL FOR ALL IMMORAL ACTS, CRIMES, AND TRANSGRESSIONS. THE ONLY PRIZE THAT WILL BE FOUND AT THE END OF THIS DARK RAINBOW IS THE BLACKEST OF HEARTS-SYMMETRICAL TO YOUR VERY OWN, A PERFECT MATCH.  

WILL I WIN YOUR BLACK HEART OR WILL YOU WIN MINE?

LET THE GAMES BEGIN,
IN LOVE TO BE LOVED BY A SAVAGE LOVER.

When you sit
Amongst loose-knit rubble
Like a halfhearted apocalypse
With your hands out,
Fingers splayed
As if to say, here,
Here are my pieces,
Weave me back together,

I will just stare through
The hole shaped from inky dusk
On my horizon
Etched when you escaped
Into a pinpoint of skyline,
Trying to remember
The sensation of liking
The person you love.

I don't want to hurt you,
But conniving with empty palms
Will not wrinkle your spine
Enough to make you see
That standing up straight
Was never the point.

The rabbit hops through the snow,
Almost disappearing
As his fur is bright and white as the fog behind him.

He halts when he sees the large black bear.

The bear spots him immediately.

The bear bounds over to the rabbit,
And stands on his hind legs after they touch noses.

The rabbit ***** his head to the side,
And the bear paws at the note tied to his neck.

A man clears his throat.

The bear jumps, obviously shaken by the noise,
While the rabbit edges closer, chest puffed out and head held high.

The man laughs.

"I won't hurt you." The man says softly.
"That note, I believe it's for me."

The bear is crouched,
Seemingly trying to hide behind the rabbit.

The rabbit sticks his little arms out to his sides,
And shakes his head.

The man frowns.

A lion appears behind him.
And then a tiger.
And then cats and dogs and birds and snakes.

"There haven't been animals in this wood in decades." Explains the man. "All these animals are just like you."

The bears slowly looks up and blinks at the other animals.

The rabbit puts down his arms.
He suddenly bounces towards the man, sniffs him furiously,
And then grabs the note off the bear's neck.
The bear lets out a halfhearted roar,
And sits down.

The man reads the note.
He crushes it in his hands, and calls to the various, now having become animals.
He stands, back turned to the bear.

The bear's eyes go wide.

"All of your people did what they could to protect you. It is now that we seek vengeance for them. It is now that we take back these woods, our land. It is now that we save the remainders of our people. We have become, because of them. It's time we pay our debt!"

The rabbit stands at the man's feet. He looks awe-struck, and he squeaks in agreement while the other animals grown and yowl their responses.

The bear does nothing, but stare at the man's back.

Because out of the man's back
Sticks a wind-up key.
That just keeps on spinning,
With no end in sight.

I dive right in even though
I know that by the time I get
to the bottom the pool will
be shallow

and when I stand up and shake
the water from my hair and
open my eyes I know for certain
that the water will have drained

away entirely. Just me, soaking,
sopping, sobbing in an empty
pit of gray concrete. I will still
dive because that
                               fall
                                    
through the                      air

will be the most precious thing,
I suspect. I am sure it will be for
nothing in the end but before then,
it will be for you.

I will do it for you and for my
own selfish reasons, because it's
you, I know, and I will never find
another like you nor will I try.

When you leave I want to remember
you properly, with your eyes shining
but not from tears. Smiling eyes,
laughing pools of brown, open.

Always I will remember you and
I want the memories to be perfect
because I love you and I am not
as selfless as you and I want to

remember love this way so that
when I fall into the shallow water
and the shock flows up my spine
and stings my soul I can remember

your face and remember
that I did it for you, that love is strong
enough to push acrophobia off the
edge and send it     
                                 s       o    a    r       i    n    g  

with arms spread wide and eyes wide
open. Maybe if I can remember that, the
soaring before the fall, I will try again
to find it even though I know it won't

be your fall. I will continue in search
of it anyway, a hopeless search for
something halfhearted, but I will
continue it whole-heartedly, that I

might always be reminded of you.
And now, I will embrace the concrete
floor, the stinging of the spirit and
the soaring of the soul, as I fall, that

you might see my smile and enjoy
the fall with me,
before it crashes.

That is how much I love you.

The wind is as idle as I am today
It groans in halfhearted exasperation,
recalculating avian trajectories at 15 miles an hour
The trees are shaken up
“Give me all your leaves!”
They comply with as much dignity as nature brings
Crumpled sighs as they acquiesce and deliver
The same bounty demanded every winter

the stuff that makes me loud while
the mind whispers softly, reminding
me not to speak
about the pain

the stuff that makes the eyes' luster dim
around the edges
(but we're always
evolving
behind
the eyes)

the stuff that makes us fitted
or whole or pierced
or shed or Other
or perpetually looking down
at our own interactions

the stuff that makes me hypothesize
you across the table
as fitted and whole or maybe
you are broken and barricaded

either way
I want to know you
and
your
warmth,
and
your drift
in the attention span
(can't count to five
seconds without
changing
activity constantly drifting
in and
out
of
life),
and
your electricity, and
vulnerability,
and
your ease in
knowing me differently
than I'm used to,
and
your affection concealed
with halfhearted punches,
and
your inability to Be
without fully Being

the stuff that glides
warm and
burns
down
the
throat

Screaming, screaming, screaming.
She sunk further and further down under.
The deeper she got,
the more entangled in her lies she became.

Fighting, fighting, fighting.
She had been in constant combat mode.
But the struggle was only halfhearted,
the end was inevitable.

Dying, dying, dying.*
She was losing all she ever had.
Her relief grew
with the pain.

Staring in a mirror. Again
It makes me feel worse just to see

I braided my hair so neatly
Now it's falling apart at the seams

There's a comparison there
Let's not look into it

If I stick pins in
Tie up all the loose ends again

It'll look neater, sure
As long as you don't look too close

Cause there's a glittering metal barricade
Of a halfhearted hairstyle I tried to save

He thought everything was alright
since he never heard her sobs.
So he went on with his life after
a halfhearted apology.
And she went back to bed
filling her favorite pillows
with her silent sorrows.