It’s not often that she

gets around to it.

One thing at a time I suppose.

Says what she means,

what she’s been chewing on.

My fingers, they’re slipping,

watching her withdraw.

Don’t know it’s the same thing;

an item actionable.

Something in me breaks like

old candy, I hate

but unhand me, head down

in misery, what can I be

responsible for? And if I just

gave up, what does that

make of us? Am I making sense?

Why do I do this again? What do we

live for?





I ask her, “What are you thinking about?”

and she says, “Everything.”

Where the hell do you go?

What’s going on in that head of yours?

Why can’t I seem to access anything?

What is this blockage?

Is this regression?

Is it even worth caring about?

It hurts so bad to watch her withdraw,

and I know that she’ll be gone.

Did I do something wrong?

What is the point?

Why do I bother?

I can write something better than this.

Watch me.





Heart twisted into some audition of a joke,

palpitated, carbureted, and buried in the snow,

but the year’s gone by and now the ground has come alive with bugs,

heaven drink me in and dandelions soaking up the scum,

oh, I’ll take it on, I’ll situate my oxhide with this yoke,

I’ll pretend like I can’t see you nailing up your iron wall,

and who could take me in, this sinner severed by his narrow cord?

Was it destiny or was it scheduled that I’d be alone?

Heaven drink me in, I think I’m fucking up, but I don’t know,

I’ll accept the burden, burn my knees and stomach on this rug,

and if it’s going nowhere, then I’ll face perdition for a time,

holy constitution, take me now or leave me out to dry.



NOT FOR PUBLIC CONSUMPTION