April One

I scream and rage and want the world to burn
because you are not mine.
Seven days removed, I take the same deal and hope
for the world to end.
The pain is the same and I live the days and
misfortune over.
I live the stupid shitty, fuck fuck, shitty, how the FUCK,
why, how could I have been
That out of touch when you needed me absent.
Signals.  Neutered
for your own good, in retrospect did you want?
From the start, impossible.
Yes, I remember how we met.  I wanted to know
everything about you.
I still do.  Lines in the sand.  We were on different
paths the whole way.
Can you imagine our conversations now that we
know what we know?
I doubt we'd get along now for more than a few days.
Development.  I lied.
We would.  I would.  I still crack empty jokes
because there is a little bit
of your voice inside me, refusing to die. Weird
is what you call a pigeon
that has one foot, chilling out on an exhaust grate
in Manhattan like you
are the one who interrupted its day.
I suppose one of these
days I will settle down and saw someone to bits
out of boredom
after several dozen years of faking it to
make life easier.
I will keep in touch, in case you do the same.
The letter will have
no return address, but its contents will be a series of
tests to be sure you are
who the person who opens the envelope is.
On down the road.
One of these days I will stop sawing myself to pieces
to help me remember
the day I knew the family photo had me in it
kind of.

To Disagree

Start a war
against clover
foundation chance.
Tear away clothes.

                  Schzschzqwa

        For us.
   For us.

That still
for whom you've asked
is still not my name.

Kish

We
are
the
same.

If I can identify with a cactus

long conversations with a plant

the rainfalls on the wicked

the righteous too

cannot we all get along too

it would be magic
to leave us
hang.

Blisters.

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I suppose it makes more sense
that your roots are in our lens,
your rings and sinews
mosses and 'shrooms
thin dark branches and bright blooms
some dewy, some
spider web iced
are above for all to see
from where came our seed.

A change very small.

If only you would
come new into the ground
roots burrowing and eating
through places light never found;
then our be and our is
will thrive, pushing
shoving, eat into the sky.
Into heavens.  Into stars.
Sway with the wind and rain,
our leaves fall, our seasons change.
Instead of scrolling down.