Bone Flour

But my arsenal

is depleted

and you’re so far

away.

The sky cast

an autumn apparition

before summer started

it’s tyranny –

when you became

so cool

with your cast-iron

codependency.

And in the scraping night

we’re killing ourselves

with plastic thoughts

while the delirious massacre

occurs in the still dead
still.

Friday the 13th

The first whisper

of a breath of fall

coming in

through the cracks

of the window.

Your head rested

comfortably against my dreams.

My failings still stirring

on the pillow –

my eyes

not adjusting to light;

I will never go

back

to sleep

pinned perfectly

between your arms.

This bed spells

death

when 1 a.m. is always

rising to the surface of the sun.

It’s hard to know

which chair in the corner

will help me

stand

these dreams

are going 

away

faster than how you left;

those nights

when we stayed

home.

To Little; To Late (An Ode)

When she called

over a year ago

from a hotel room

in Chicago

and say no more.

She had hips,

          not too much;

incandescent.

She was the acme

of smooth

delicate traces.

She stared

at a foreign headboard

and I withheld

the true depth

of an engrossing sentiment.

Say no more –

shades of green.

The People v. Existence

She sleeps

beside me

but I have no idea

who she is.

I knew her once

very well

some time ago.

Maybe a week

or 10 years

have passed –

I don’t sleep anymore.

As a shadow

of my former self

she is merely

an apparition

and as real

as this night

falls upon the crooked earth

in a gold car

with the windows up

she sleeps beside me

but neither of us

are really present

here.