What is all this?
What do you want from
me?
The book?
I wrote it, put it out
there.
Who gives a shit? You,
her, a them?
I got this blankness,
this darkness fog
Not knowing how to be
alone or with anyone
Even if someone wanted
in, which no one has
So this cruel joke of
choices
Blended into the ashen
face cream
Rubbed raw uncertain
of every damn thing
I thought I saw you
behind her eyes
Turned out to be
nothing, just a gasp swig of nothing
Writing postponed, too
much, gluttonous combustion
Hearing stories form
old voices, same unsettledness
That left too much
dust in the air of the room for me to breathe before
On that expectation to
sneeze and clasp the asthma again
That is not the road;
praying at strangers
The whole world feels
like a train station depot motioning in tickets, agendas
Times of arrival and
departure, I feel stunned in soaking in the lines and the muddle
Unsure where to step
or speak or enact travel
Everything feels
foreign
I prayed to you like a
compass and these years demagnetized me
The rules the
storyline of absence on my end, not sure what else I can do
What I am willing;
what feels like heaven and praying for kindness to sweep across my lips
Like tenderness, a
peach orchard in all this kudzu and fire
Toes crackled with
fungus and barbed wire
Slicing the impression
and the hope that a two way reciprocation exists
That any of this
currency in my pocket has a beautiful exchange rate
With love out there;
worthy and commensurate, willing and temperate
To give and receive
like a star in time intersecting light in my eyes
In the breaking of
dawn vagabond junky no more
You found me whoever
the hell you are, if you exist at all
I think I am ready, I
am ready to fall
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