what would I be
without the remanence
of your kisses
down my spine
there i'd be-
all jelly, no forest fire
just holding on
to my own idled hand
sawdust of yesterday's
belongings and toiletries
I don't. just not to remember
myself-
"sixty-seven years gone by",
they'll say
still looking for
his face
in the all the white pages
and timeless treasuries
right now:
what am I if not
rooted up by my rage
a claw picking me up
for a one dollar stuffed animal
a make-shift dinosaur
with only one quarter
left to spare
although justified
in my crown of thorns
will it matter
twenty years from now?
It has been....five years and
it appears that I am still angry
and my ribs feel
impossibly heavy
from the kisses you
forgot to give back
it does not matter much
five years or three milestones
if the world keeps twirling
but I adhere to
the frozenness of
your deception
what will I be without
waiting for the chime
of a text
a wavering charm
lingering at my feet
what will I stumble to
when you are gone
what will my story be then
all cobblestone
broken brick sidewalks
to net in all my mistakes
stricken by panic
of what I will become
if you are no more,
my saving grace
like c'mon
what if your friends don't like me anymore??
what if my story leads me no where
but down
paving my own path
feels daunting
a punchline
waiting to reveal itself full
in the only truth I know
for now-
it is fucking hard
this is fucking hard
and my envy of your
life blossoming out
without me
leaves me breathless
and all volcano heartbeat!
another pill to swallow:
another plane to catch
i hope you find me there
sixty-five and waiting
for another round trip
another round about
merry-go-round
tongue split
i hope the news
will know of it
grapevine gossip machines
running the street of market:
***
yeah ,
i hope they know
of all the rage between us
