you strip and fall
upon uneven surfaces
of irritation.

this is the last of your dreams
before the nightmares begin,
behold.

every splash is accompanied by a silent scream.
you beg and beg to return to reality
but no mercy is ever given.

you have lost hope.
you cannot make it up
to your gods.

your voice is gone,
deep under the sea
melodies of bubbles.

somehow;
all this time later, i'm still dreaming about you
i'm still writing about you,
still pining after you.

and when i feel lonely i don't know what to do,
so i think about you,
i still think about you.

and while you don't even know...
but maybe you do?
i think that you do,
you know i care about you.

but what you may not know,
well if you read this you do.
i'll never be over you;
i'm still in love with you.

and i guess i should just say that
even though we are through,
it's always been you;
it'll always be you.

i was scared for a while
when i thought i lost my words,
the once endless monologue slowing to a trickle
until
...nothing.
no poetry, no words,
no stanzas pushing at my lips and itching my fingers
to be released.
i thought, "if i've lost my poetry, what am i?"

I am the highest mountain,
my tips tickling the sky.
I am the flickering candle,
that brings light to your eye.
I am the smallest rain drop,
that makes tarns and rivers grow.
I am the twinkling stars,
that show you which way to go.
I am the current of the tides,
and the moon that makes them change.
I am a gift or favor given,
without expecting any exchange.
You see I am not only human,
I own nothing you can measure;
but I am made of stardust,
the universe's greatest treasure.

Deep below the surface,
of a sea stormy and frenetic;
lies buried an ancient relict,
once radiant but now pathetic.
It is a long ago sunken ship
the mast and canvas rotten.
The stern revealing injuries,
that are not yet forgotten.
It once carried adventurers,
looking for brand new land;
But now it's decrepit and cursed,
never to reach a strand.
But if you would look closer,
to the shattered and mouldered deck,
you would see the dissembled treasure,
that waits to be found within every wreck.

in the hall, I listen as she calls out
his name

not aware I am there,
nor would she care

if I open the door without making
a sound,

I purloin a few seconds to watch her
before she sees me

when her eyes catch mine,
she looks away

the morning sun makes a sympathetic effort
to light our room

"our" room which from which I have
been excommunicated

the drapes she sewed only last summer
are never open

that is her world, staring through
baby blue curtains

which mute the half light of morning,
though not enough

not enough to blind her to the spot
where her son's crib waited

until I committed the unpardonable
sin of taking it to the cold cellar

only a fortnight after our stillborn child
was placed in the ground

insidious lies:
the ones with a hint of truth
we tell ourselves

I'm so afraid you'll be the kind of guy to say "I love you" in the exact right way at the exact right time when the candles are fizzing in their own puddles, never glancing at that piece of tantalizingly soft pale skin right above my slightly sagging purple velvet dress, opening all the doors and paying for all our insanely expensive dinners at Olive Garden-

the kind of guy that will never keep me waiting for more than three minutes-

or say that no, you'd rather have cheese pizza because you secretly don't like pepperoni even though you know I love it, and I don't know what to say because

                    that's the kind of guy I've always wanted and it would be silly to think that I would love if once,
                    just once,
                                        you would be the kind of guy that forgot my birthday until the last minute and gave me his sock as a gift.

looking around me, 19 second stop at a red light and already the large, bearded man with the scar on his cheekbone is grumbling, scratching at his bushy mustache and drooping Yankees hat, so faded it could almost be a B for the red sox

there's a young woman, ***** blonde hair cascading down her back, almost gracefully; seemingly too small for the rumbling white pickup truck she sat in, scratched and almost a tint of blue from this angle; one hand at the wheel, one tickling the feet of a giggling newborn at her side, for a second i wondered who the father was-

and over there, a skinny Hispanic boy by the side of the road, walking with threadbare sandals flapping against the hard cement, there's a hopeless look in his eyes-

an old man with a 5-inch long grey beard, almost touching the steering wheel; he's either Asian or he's squinting into the sun, can't really tell from here- wrinkles lining his worn face

a strong-***** Japanese woman, hair in a tight bun driving a Ferrari

a red-haired bespectacled boy, pale as chalk, his face covered with freckles (or was it acne?); couldn't have been older than 17; he looked like a Robert or a Charles, definitely not a Samuel

in front of me, a red Chevy truck with a license plate LUVANN, i wonder if Ann is still with him- i crane my head upwards trying to see the man, all i can glimpse is a blue-and-white bandana-

i wonder who all these people are,
what are their hopes and dreams, do they like ******* jacks? banana splits?
where are they going?
who will miss them when they're gone, or will anyone-

then the light turns green and in a puff of smoke,
like a blur-

they're gone.