carefully carefully
please be aware
of the green leaves
that are taking over this
bed
the window,
bare
with a few snowflakes
shaking around
I am covering myself
In this bright orange
Wool blanket
Eyes lowered
legs bare in the
winter sunlight streaming
through the window
I feel like a you
poem
foreverago
please for the love of god
stop apologizing
for rejecting me.
stop apologizing for
you need a place to lay your
aching fucked up head. You
couldn’t stay
with the other woman
she’s yelling things at you from her car
I woke up thinking about
the warmest day of the summer
it was rainy and we were in the corner
of your new bedroom
it was a humid warmth, contained.
you didn’t bother to acknowledge it
while I was doing everything in my power
to hold it in my hands
45
To the abandoned house on the corner of the street that I would judge every time that I would pass. I’d like to begin by saying that I am so sorry for judging you. I’m sorry that I would stare at your spray painted spots. I was only trying to understand why you had a high wire fence surrounding your abandoned parts. Were there people living in you? Squatters? It’s too late now. All that you stood for is gone. The brash abandonment is being replaced by a fresh coat of paint.
one day in dec.
jumping into your car
moving full speed
in a day where
nothing happened
someone is
sleeping in the back but
I don’t remember if that
was just a figment
of my imagination
I couldn’t remember
we’re going around the corner
and it’s taking everything in my power
to hold it closed
you are nothing but
the open road
open
door windows cracked
bruised toxic air
that you so
willingly bathe in
Craggy Gardens
maybe people aren’t as bad as I think they are
there is still a heaviness
in my chest
it’s all there
left to communicate
but not being able to
yesterday I drove to my favorite spot
on the blue ridge parkway
from there I can see a pristine lake
blue-green and solid
seemingly untouched by
humankind
I don’t need anyone or anything
8
without the tornado people
how am I going to write poetry
seeing these shiny happy
so privileged that look like they’ve
walked off a country living catalog
I feel like I’m staring at a different life
that I never want to be a part of
I’m still looking for you
I’m still writing shitty love poems
It’s still cold and everything
seems like it has remained the
same
this must be the place that I come
back to, even if it’s a painful
place
there is a whole in my heart
the shape of the day
we spent at the park and another one
for the day
I went to meet
you by the river
plaidpufferjacketcountry
are you ready for Christmas?
says the man in the green puffer vest
sitting around the table with his white family
A golden retriever passes by
where the hell am I
I’m not ready for christmas
I don’t know where my family is
I’m still recovering from a summer
spent in my own rot
there are no signs of my going crazy
I’m only going on long runs
staring at the hyper reality of the
crunchy dark brown leaves on
the somehow still green grass
