.

*I have written a dozen messages now
(probably more, no definitely more)
I word each one as carefully as I can,
telling you how much I miss you,
how lonely my days have been,
how I am doing ok (not really)
and I hope you are too,  
only to get to the bottom, the final line,
and typing out, I...well you know,
then stare at the screen and
think about it for a few minutes
before hitting delete…

wishing each time I did
it was me that disappeared

.

Words from perforated ceiling tiles squawk
as megaphone filters blare
in crackled sequence
around missing stations
and call letters that aren’t acronyms

I hear these words, but shake my head
I know they are for me,
sent by well wishing advisors
wearing t-shirts imprinted
“I’m with stupid”

(and the arrows point at me)

Still I don’t heed the warnings,
I can’t, for dreams require reaching,
top shelf visions waving with
hope filled coupons
offering no discount for the heart

“Don’t want what you can not have,” they shout
As I continue to climb the frozen escalator,
cleaning my shoes on the bristles,
then checking my appearance in the sunglass
reflection of a mannequin missing one arm

(and I feel happy for this plastic person)

For it has no idea how it feels
to be out of style, yesterday’s sleeves
Worn of worried first impressions,
heart beat delusions and needs
at the end of the line…to check out

and yet, until the time comes for me to “check out”
I will not give up on that dream, regardless of
invisible sales clerks on their eternal breaks,
because I will reach that register and I will ask that question
to which she just might say yes,

(and then who will be wearing the t-shirt)

She kisses the boys and girls
that pay the most attention.
The boys play with vapor
and her girls play with tension.
I wish I was the only one
that she will decide to touch
but I am who I am
and, in a way, that is too much.

Sawblade-sunflower petals
wrap around an earthy cushion,
and the humidity hangs in the air
as her beige body is crumpled
and I feel too sober, pushing.

Baby yellow falls apart,
in her hair the flower starts
to trickle onto sheet and pillow,
decorating the absences
that define how hollow
she and I have felt before --
******* like an endangered species
on the killing floor, I whisper once,
I whisper sweet, "Don't you wish
that we didn't meet?"

She kisses the boys and girls
that give the most attention.
I played with vapor
and she played with tension.