I miss you and my skin shivers
The heaves of the flying engine
The sky of our heavens angel
Amiss and my soul webbed in a bay
As the mist of the dew condenses
The waters flows in our artistry
Our chemistry a fizzle unreactive
Our feeling dances as a spirit of its own
The miss and want to walk my finger
Rest it on your bare hairless chest
The miss to walk and pluck a hair
Resourcefully induce a prickly pain
I miss you and my tear flitters
On the trail of the cave I touch
****** the walls that hang your heart
I miss you as we shield our soul and shell
At the crossroads where the devil turns

Only my beloved
could walk into
NASA
in Dickies, and work boots,
with astronauts
and business suits.
Because my beau
shoots
for the stars
He wages bright wars.
He is clever and
resourcefully smart.
He's also hopelessly,
harmlessly
terse.
And only
my beloved
could cut wood
and cuddle
seamlessly keeping
close to me
and keeping me warm.
And his hands
are perfect,
and his eyes
get hooded
by his chocolate colored brows
that I adore
when he frowns.
My beloved
is handsome and strong.
Princely
and brawn.
He keeps me safe
warm and worn.
He's broad
walking charm,
he's just a boy
with a barn.
Is it funny
I said
when I was a kid
that I'd grown up
to fall down for
a man with a. farm?

sometimes i wonder where she went, that girl. who used to love to dream and read and write and draw, who was so passionate. i wonder why she isn't here with me now, where she went, if she went anywhere at all. if she eroded away with time and if i might find her sediments still somewhere, being tossed around in the waves of my mind. if she was startled from that dreaminess when the alarm clock woke her because she was only a dream, if she ever felt tired enough to go back to her old self. sometimes i wonder if she died, if i missed her funeral, if she even had a funeral (and if she did, who would go? she didn't have any friends), if her body is still rotting somewhere in the cracks on my skull. because that's where she's fallen—in the cracks.

i think about her too often. I am too caught up in the past and future, i don't even recognize the present when it's staring back at me in the mirror.

the words have left me.
i am so lonely without them.
i am so lonely without her.

i write her obituary over and over in my head but none of the words sound right. she was great, she was awesome, she was more than that. she was a dreamer, an artist, she was more than that. she had thrown her head into the sky and rejoiced to see it floating amongst the clouds. no, she was more than that. still more than that.

because i miss her.
i really ******* miss her.

i've said this to myself so many times they're carved into my skull, tatooed onto my lips, blackened my teeth with their ink. i've said it so many times but it doesn't bring her back. i miss her more but that doesn't bring her back either.

i should use my time resourcefully and try to find myself while she's gone but i'm nothing without her. without her i'm just a headless body navigating the streets of newyorkcity at 3a.m. i get lost when i'm alone and i can't stand it. i am a simile without the adjective, just two nouns that don't know what to do with each other. i am getting lost now, writing this.

Absent arburn air
Baffled beautiful boughs
Causing chaotic conflicts
During dead days
Even erethreal energy
Forged forgetful fiends
Greatful greactious gains
Handed handwritten hearts
Instead intricate idiocy
Joined jumping jesters
Keeping kites killed
Leaving lonely listeners
Mourning more music
Nourishing nothing new
Overtime opening options
Presented painfully personal
Questioning quaint qualities
Returning resourcefully righteous
Simply slauted seriously
Tempting tireless tapestry
Usually using updateable
Volumptuos ****** value
With wanted water
Xaern xany xenatious
Yearns yearlong yet
Zappy zazzy zanyism

Richmond in Sixty five we
     resourcefully fled,
And Petersburg, too, where so many
     bled,
And to the west Lee our great army
     led.
For the mountains of Virginia the aim
     was kindled,
But advancing Union troops our end
     still signaled,
Till, at Appomattox, to Grant
Lee gave in, and in that instant,
Our fine army was summarily sent
To the Pages of History, where we
     dutifully went.

Push me to the brink
Deprive me
Mired in despondence
Drive me
Mad with grief,
Forlorn,
Rejected
Feed me nothing
But regressive
Failure
Cast me out
Alone,
Bury me
Away
Unknown
Forget I ever lived
At all
Delete
The writing on the wall
In shadows of
This urban sprawl
Resourcefully
To bed I crawl
And ever wake
Another day
Adapting to
The disarray
As if some kind
Of wild creature
Streamlining
My body
Sleeker
Weak at times
But mark my words
If need be I devour herds
Then seeking my next meal
Reveal
The rest
As hungry
As I feel