There is a tide,
I need a conversation,
my language is empty
because I have no one to talk with.

In order for life and art to flourish,
there must be nourishment,
food given through moments of lust,
passion, devotion, desire, and hope.

My people have abandoned this
moment in time, found color in famous shops
and deserted poverty.

An ache
high pitched like a headache
tapping the roof of my mouth
as weeping tightens the skin around my bloodshot eyes.

two years this time
of moons falling, suns rising
morning kisses and making love
trying to learn again, like virgins
or bad lovers.

lying again, knowing
each time he thanked me on his way home
like a ***** he'd paid,
there would be an end.

left again. unchosen again.
desperate again.

isolated
solitary
deserted
abandoned
forsaken
forlorn
friendless
­desolate
solo
singly
solus
only
hermit
unaccompanied
detached
lon­esome
unmarried
unassisted
stag
apart
destitute

crying in the darkness or light
you tears falling out of your eyes
onto your cheeks
sobs

the silence after you weep
rings
and you think
God must be watching.

But in life,
only pain follows sadness
cloaked in robes of temporary joy,
waiting to undress
and reveal itself once more.

It's then you realize,
God only watches,
it is Satan who listens.

bigger than I am,
more financially resolved,
he rejected tents
and festival colors.
now he walks with big steps,
I imagine 1000 ft. tall,
swishing in a blue suit.
all that I could hope for.

I hope he wins from life
what he desires.

The child remembers my failings,
so much so he separates.
The day he disembarked from the bus,
leaving me in my seat,
doing what he was told.

I can't even say if he turned around,
to wave. Was he scared?
Off he wandered,
on his 10 year legs, into town, alone.

Did anything traumatic happen to him that day?
Did he cry because he had noone with him?
Does he hold resentment from being left
to fend for himself
the entire day?

A small child
with no one to watch over him.
So much so
He doesn't care
to know me?

You don't know how this feels.

Most probably
there are people at your table
fighting over puffs of corn
or raging pink and blue rings of sugar laced
Os.

You might be wrapped in an embrace now,
a man creeping up behind you
smoldering a fire between your shoulders with his lips.

Or your mother is smashing beans or broccoli,
your father is relaxing in front of the news,
or sweating after a day of work.

Perhaps, your friends are calling to invite you out to play.