fine rhymes

1.
when you left me
hallowed and empty in bed
took the breath from me,
left me pacing around the house
we built and then-

when you left me by the mailbox
waiting for your letter-
when even the mailman knew better
and didn’t hope, but i knew.
and when you left me that morning
and when you left me in shambles.

ridiculous.

2.
last night you spoke of being gone
before the end of spring
and i thought, how will i get along
without you among, other things.

perhaps it was my silence that
threw you. i didn’t speak
because i knew i couldn’t be
in compliance that something
that kept you and i apart.

and though this expression is more
than just an, an art
i keep saying this in the only way i know how,
if you must take it as an artist plea.
to you, from me.

3.
yet, after you are gone
you will know me and somehow
you will recognize the what used
to lie inside my eyes
those smooth lines you used to touch,
the lines that made my face.
4.
you’ll recognize my flinch at your embrace-

you spoke of being gone
my southern boy child while
the music from our record
played that song, our song,

but you will be gone by
the end of spring.

so what am i to do without you
among, other things.

5.
you’ll wonder how it
would be different had
july spread it’s wings.

how it would have changed
your heart to sit with me
and sing the song we sing.
had our adventure
become another summer fling

i see you and i separated
by one last goodbye. don’t you
know what you’ve done! what
you will do-
won’t you wonder

what i could have been for you?

6.
and i hope these are the
questions you ask, dear.
i hope these are the
things you fear, love.
perhaps, my tears
we what you had not thought of.
i hope.
never less; it’s probably better i don’t.

witness

witness
the coming of the next set
or the exit of the wise.

the night my children up and drowned,
or the morning when the magic man made his round.

witness,
him coming down a back county road,
with a dirty top hat and torn
red cape.

so do i relive the night he knocked at the door
whispering he had broughten,

all that i was looking for?

can i witness a memory,
one forgotten in time,
that was never mine.

the day when the magic man made his round,
the morning when all my children up and drowned
in the creek behind the house.

witness,
when he brought them back,
piled high in a cart,

pulling at the different strings
of this stain glass heart.

witness,
again,
the night he knocked at m door.
whispering he had brought me,

all that i was looking for.

junkie

there are days when i feel no better than a junkie. i admit it, hey, if i were the type i would shout it from the streetcorner. but that's not my style so here i am, on these choice nights, feeling like i've laid it all out and that the next person that walks through the door is going to get one hell of a shocker. if people think they've seen it all, you've got another thing coming because, b is for brooklynn and i'm on a whole different level. you know the feeling, total exposure... it'd be like getting caught with your hand in the jar and trying to talk your way out of it.

you weren't really trying to eat a cookie, your hand fell in the jar.

sad how we think sometimes it'll work. maybe i can pull the wool over their eyes one more time, they wise up. eventually. what would happen if your world froze, while you were in the middle of another junkie episode. i wonder what they would see behind every window, in every car or room.

something delicious i suppose.

what happens in dance....

stays in dance.