so tired.
that’s when it hits, and i am
wrapping arms around my own waist and
there is nothing there, skin and bones
provide no comfort. no substance:
skeleton walking down the aisle to the grave, tears
you keep misunderstanding, become the
false placeholder: napkins stained at a wedding where
the roses stay painted, the smile now
etched in stone. i’ve tried to make
the happiness full in your heart, and my failure is still
incomplete. i cannot keep this free-fall going. i can’t keep
ticking like a cybernetic clock. i’m
turning cold. i shut down like an .exe –
screen
blue.

read me forwards and backwards.

windows

12.07.2017

sideways.
that’s the way it’s coming
in the bedroom window
and the fabric is stained
grey to black.
i lay myself down.

i watch the torrential
downpour, and i think
of you. cleaning
up the mess. does
the water draw you
out like a witch dowser?

time passes in chunks,
and suddenly i’ve found half
the day wasted in the
voyeurism of gravity mixing
with vapours of H20.
and where are you?

i don’t know is the answer
i’d most prefer to give.
it’s in the spot that makes
me ache – the place where
i am not. guilt rises through
my brittle bones.

i think you know this.
i think you look through the
window of my heart and see
where the downpour occurs.
i opened it for you, after all.
and when you see it

i think you smile.

background noise

9.07.2017

here in the tree
i am one leaf rustling.
i am together, and yet
s e p a r a t e
and i am lonely.
you are so close, but these
tendrils of photosynthesis
do not bind, do not touch,
do nothing but sustain
a bigger hierarchy of sound.

and if i was a flower, too
somewhere in-between i’d pause
and wonder why
you find the time
to visit everyone but me.
you must have been a busy bee.

these days our homes are never silent.
dryers running full, floorboards creaking,
shouting dogs and people barking
orders, and a small whimpering heard
through backs-of-doors, if only
you were listening.

the cicadas here are lovely things.
they sing and hum and never stop.
they work for every goddamn breath
til they fall down in grasses dead.

the breeze here blows free:
summer scent of beachy waves,
sun-tan oil stains,
your musty bedroom blankets:
the cacophony goes unheard
and i am
s o m e w h e r e
in the middle between hell
and high water.
i shout your name among
the flames.

we burn in earnest, you and i
in tandem like two apartments;
one catches to the other in
ruination.
the middle ground
is groaning cinder.

o attic space above my head!
rotting in asbestos corridors
filled with books and useless
verbage, ignored.
o basement dweller! your corners
dark and cracked with sorrow, the
mess of truth, become something
you may not have wished for.

even the insects sleep, quite hushed,
when night has turned here all to dark.
i lay awake, a puddle on the floor.
am i so easy to ignore?