But This Hole

What's a thief to do after theft?                                     They left.             Was any party badly cut?                                                 Me, but...             What was insured of what they stole?                                                             This hole.             In time, I'm told, I'll have a mole             to mark the damage left behind             apart from parts that were not minded:                         they left me but this hole.

Tell Me Why We Can’t Go Back

Tell me why we can't go back       to how we were before this mess       you're leaving me. Cold and black       the words recited as you pack:       verdict, sentence, more or less,       but tell me why we can't go back.       Did what I give so badly lack       what you were wanting? Must be yes,       you're leaving me. Cold and black       our bed, like ash in burlap sack.       So lasting felt our last caress,       so tell me why we can't go back.       You're cutting me so little slack       attempting to my faults redress.       You're leaving me. Cold. Black.       Tell me why. I won't attack.       Tell. My heart will acquiesce.       You're leaving me so cold and black.       Tell me why we can't go back.

Tell Me Why Once More

Tell me why they are still so hard on to me.       Haven't I gone far enough past getting free?       Past the burning break, past the aching scar       that're burning, aching still. Tell me why they are.       Tell me why you go after it when I no longer can       force myself to throw my last chance like we began.       Like we became when love and laughter sang as though       laughing loving stayed. Tell me why you go.       Tell me why I lose sight of this day's far end       on through its empty night to which it must descend.       As it must send me flesh and word as I may choose       word and flesh together. Tell me why I lose.       Tell me why once more wouldn't work for me, for you.       They're not at my door. Your song's not through.       I'm still close enough to hold, to kiss, to dream dreams for.       Dreams need not end so. Tell me why once more.

Oh Just Get Over It

See? Doesn't take so much to fill                 you. Will     you join us again, since you now                     know? How     small a matter to be hostile                         to! Smile     for us. Make the moment worthwhile.     There there. There's time to try again.     See? You'll get to be mama when             you still know how to smile.

No One Wants This To End

How'd we come so quickly undone?                     No one     past lover you'd best reminisce                         wants this     as badly as I. We pretend                             to end     what we most wish we'd dare extend.     We started us out conscience-free,     yeah, but just between you and me,             no one wants this to end.

Location Ain’t Always All It’s About

Somewhere north of that bar you wish to raise      is where I'm aiming, out to hit your praise      or anything resembling it. No lie,      I still act like you've set the standard high      enough. I guess we all go through that phase.      Like you know all the slick tricks to amaze      your audience?—those cheap teasing displays,      your "Is it here? Is this it?" Uh...no. Try                somewhere north of that.      I've lain in limbo long enough. Malaise      will kill my spirit if my body stays      here waiting as if hoping you're nearby.      I'm thinking I might move, you'll catch on why:      look for Lake Erie, then go drive a ways                somewhere north of that.

[stilled september skies]

stilled september skies — calm collides with wintry winds above ground zero [posted for Sara as of date written; originally posted at Poetic Asides]

Moving Right Along

Whether or not my bed sees you again, every morning it's just as though.                I only know      for every dream of mine you curse, there's another you as easily enchant.                     Know you can't      come back where you left me. Wherever you call home these days, my dear,                          can't be here.      I'm so damn vulnerable. If I don't leave, you'd know where to find me. I fear      where you'd be welcomed way too easily, there I leave myself too exposed.      I'll still write, but where I'm writing from will have to you remain undisclosed.           I only know you can't be here.

Not Until Now

Not one cross wasn't nailed down, not one dot spared.        Still I fell way far short against whom I got compared.        You grew lifesize in the crosshairs of my rifle's scope        otherwise I'd not've had the aim of my shot impaired.        I wanted the voices to flow freely as though thin air,        so stitching declined and of each blood clot despaired.        They lined us all up head to toe in nice orderly files,        each girl ironed straight and with her own slot paired.        I doubt I can repossess the jewel they dug out of me        but at least I'll get them to have that spot repaired.        "Sara," you'd once said, "she looks a whole lot like me."        That I didn't until now, for that one I wasn't prepared.

The First, In Lieu Of

You said this wasn’t how it’s meant to end— you even wrote it down in your own hand as though that made more meaningful its stand against the close we’d wanted to pretend already had against our bid been penned. Did not you always have our next month planned out in advance, each word at your command prepared to voice what you might chance intend? You knew I’d swallow it. I never learn to wait to see what’s coming past the break. I thought tomorrow wasn’t my concern as long as there was time enough to burn enough to let what’s burnt feel free to ache past loving love. Still, now where do I turn? [posted for Sara as of date written]