My case, I'll point, is not so solid
for what I desire. My case, I guess,
is surely lacking that something
I look for. Admit, though, somtimes
you are watching for me to make
my moves. So still am I that
you go onthinking I'll never
get this proved. Careful, careful,
for I am too honest. I'll tell you
I know nothing of this. But others
will not say how very baffled
and disgruntled they think they
will stay.

Wind sweeping, the limbs beating,
leaking, creeping, weeoing, keeping,
something else away. Something
else, I say.

When beginning something new
take into account that I will
not be broken, except by my own
thoughts, take down my protests
my misfortunes, my underlying
hates. I will be forever a slave
to the darkness that I make.

I do not think, alone or together,
of many happy things these days
except the air and so the weather,
except being lazy and craved.

This is fog all about me, I think,
gray, fake, and yet I think
this all is real, hope I know
what shall I do, or say, or hope
or how I must go forth

Even things that once were easy
are heavy, make me feel spongy,
soft, fragile, lonesome for a day
ahead with no idea how to plan it.

Are you 11 PM dark yet, like I feel,
like I said? Do you get it?
Are my feet and ankles failing?
Do my knees protest? I do not
know this, I do not hold this
anymore than you do.
anymore than you.

----------------

Something about the summer
as an adult, something
about the time that does not
stop. Something about the vacation
that isn't coming. Something about
the something that is not.

Nothing about the time I am spending
Nothing about the days that I still live
Nothing about you here and laughing
Nothing to give, share, love, or
forgive.

----------------

I would take you with me
if I were going. I would
bring my things if I knew
where. I would let you hear
it if I could listen.
I would make you see
if I could care.

----------------

keeping to myself is keeping me up--
awake or suspended or undone.
carrying what I once did and
a plus-load, a little more than
I have in my past--getting a
little less for food now for
my mind. I take what I do not
know to be false. And so I am
spent without shopping. I am
lost without ever leaving, I am
coasting without the wheels I
meant to get before I left
the oil
the grease
to stop the friction
of dying
slowly
without peace

----------------

I'll walk you home--I'll eat your face--
I'll walk you home, just trust me.
I'll walk you home, give me the place.
I'll walk you home, just promist me
that you won't die, that you won't
give up so easily--just tell me
one thing, just choose it, and I will
let you take your place on the porch,
in the squeak-swing, let you watch
me paint the ceiling, yes,
if you can keep up with me this
time, I'll just have to walk
the hard way. Where no one would
follow me if I asked--the places
I would say we go if you'll agree
if you'll prevent me from my demons
until the haunting ends, if it
is to end before I am gone.

Come in, I'll walk you home
I'll take the shortcut from this place,
Come in, I have some keepsakes.
I'd like you to replace. Done is
done with no regrets, but I don't
keep this pace, I whine and slouch
and disregard my tasks and my
own low, sad face.