because while some truths lend themselves to equations, others are best described in verse

Posts tagged “love gone wrong

the same lines, again

snow used to mean
something.
like i did.
now we are

a nihilistic white
that falls and falls.
let me be broken,
a little, a fence

to keep you out,
sliding to ruin
amid the night-canals, iron-
frozen and fragile.

the high grass there
whispers shatteredly,
makes me think
of breaking glass.

there is so much
that i would break,
corazon. we fall and fall,
but there is no erasing:

the river stays dark,
and you, distant,
as if there were nothing
to hop, nothing at all.


shadowboxing

Hill top in fall

This poem is not for you.

It walks behind me and laughs,
says you must
have strength to be
gentle (and tho i feel like crying);
We take pride in being southpaws.

This poem doesn’t hear the hurt
in a message (maybe)
meant for me, sent
to the second of your ex-wives.

(This poem
thinks things
with an ex-
are so insubstantial
as to nonexist.
We disagree.)

It kisses me
on my merlot mouth,
doesn’t mention
the knife on the floor.

This poem knows its whiskeys
like truths: starkly & burning
in the back of the throat, finds
nothing light in either.
(Often there is strength
with no gentleness.)

It  takes the Bottom paths,
sticks to canal lines,
the water, the river,
railroad overhead rumbling,

thinks about boxcars, speaks
my wistful, bitter into where
no one can hear, knows
i too always take the riverpaths
up Hill (and, sadly,
will not follow you home).


the loneliness of train whistles

tracks over Mayo
the loneliness of train whistles
has been known
to keep us up at night.

when there is moon,
we play hopscotch
on  old sidewalks

with chalked silhouettes
of desire. when there is not,
we walk white-footed the rails

by the river, counting
darks between shadows
until the sun

comes and grows and
our backs bend too heavy
so we turn them

from the creosote-soaked
tang of the city
to dig holes in dry dirt,

filling them up
with all the weight
of emptiness.