there's no longer enough sleeping
medication to put me to sleep for a couple
of hours
the doses aren't strong enough to knock
me out of staring at my fears on the
blank ceiling
toss
turn
bury my head
check my phone
repeat
i still can't escape the fears
the ones that i make up in my head
and the ones that happened once before
my biggest fear?
losing you again
but i believe you when you say
you're not going anywhere this time
and knowing that puts me to ease tonight

You're used to seeing that face of stone.
You're used to trying and ending up alone.

What you do not notice are the soft roses that bloom on her cheek
When you compliment her. And when you insult her, the rain in her eyes that leak.

Do you not hear the woodpecker, caged in her ribs, when you come near?
Or feel the frost on her skin when you pretend not to care.

You believe the weeds of lies that force their way through her cherry lips.
And when you charm another,  you don't see the red marks in her palm (the size of pips).

But the question on your tongue you would never allow to escape,
And the honest answer she would not tell you until it's too late.

He thought she would stay
but she was smoke
dancing from his cigarette
entangling herself in his lungs
he could not hold her
she left swiftly and softly
flitting away through his exhale

read from bottom to top*


down
   us
     bring
            to
               try
           they
when
        smoke
   like
     rise
We'll

L** ost out in the real world
up, down, left, right?
its all backwards
which way to go?

O ne way.
The other less traveled
or the well beaten path?
how to choose?

S igns? supposed to
follow the signs?
if i don't care,
how will i see them?

T ear down the walls,
break away.
become something else
ENTIRELY

Forget the past
Is what they say
But how do we forget what was already forgotten

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?

He tried to spit out the truth;
Dry-mouthed at first,
He drooled and slobbered in the end;
Truth dribbling his chin.