poetry

cool looking stick

six blighted trees all in a row

tangled

mess

on the weekends I like to lie

in bed with your absence

rubbing

out the knots in my neck

checking

to see if you’ve appeared

but

still

no

I’m restless

and not doing anything about it

imagining horrible things

cutting

the pieces of rope that hold my eyeballs in their sockets

dropping

them into a jar

better now, better now

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creative ways to obstruct your breathing part deux

longing turns to flatlands

to trees I used to climb in youth

to closing the blinds in the afternoon

and falling asleep to slowdive at 4pm

waking to little hungry mouths on my fingertips

still wailing

so I shove them in my pockets

bound and gagged

and go!

out!

to look at your old house

down on cathedral street

where I’ll stand until it starts to rain

and then some

belmont avenue east

sun leaping from the planes of your face

no coat

talking at the viaduct

first warm day of the year

darling

what did you say?

I’m drifting somewhere pull me back in

I’ve been alone so long I

forgot the sound of my own voice

black and white tile I’ve cleaned

over

and

over

fermenting things for no one

writing things for no one

while I think of you smiling across the table

at someone else

miles and miles from here

I go to the grocery store

for something to do

I read in a different chair

for something to do

a bad time!

but I won’t drink alone

on principle?

I want to tie sheets to the balcony while I

cling

to the bare mattress

but it’s fucking raining again

I didn’t understand what you meant when you said

you feared the dusk