A warped kitchen chair.
Grease on the glass. Blinds bent.

What happens in the neighborhood
stays in my head for weeks.

I am a slave to greyhounds
leading ladies down the sidewalk,
men gesticulating from their porch
drunk on sunshine and hooch,
birds and squirrels fighting over seeds,
federal agents filling the cul-de-sac
for a single illegal immigrant,
sedans racing down the narrow vein
of asphalt trailing lines of smoke.

Shallow breaths. Nervous leans.
A broken clock. Even the moonlight burns.

Tick tock, all is bustling,
all is as it is, all is unwell
where I make it unwell.

but you just…

but you just

can’t 

make             

your brain

recall it

like it slipped

in cerebro-

spinal fluid

lost

in the slosh

inside your skull

and if you just…

if you just…

if you just

had

a few more seconds

one more song

one more mind

one more opportunity

you might just…

you might just

pull a random fact

straight out of your ass

and score a couple points

you might just…

have that moment

of crystal clarity

and leave that dead end job

you might just…

be done with the abuse

draw that boundary

you might just…

figure out a way

to be honest

with yourself

and with others

you might just…

tell someone

exactly

how you feel

you might just….

you might just….

sorry…

what was the question again?

When you water a plant
do you ever pause
and listen
to the sound of the liquid soaking through the soil?

rustling
crackling
sucking
inhaling

the sound of getting exactly what you need
exactly when you need it

a washing over
and through
a tingle 
of satisfaction
of exhale

of re-opening your eyes to start again

My mom wanted to die
in a sleeping bag under the stars 
I was too cowardly to break the rules
But I wish I could have said goodbye
to her there
instead of the stretcher lost
in a sea of fire fighters, EMTs, police officers
-strapped to the gurney
-or a dead image sent by iPad
of your eyes staring at me for the last time
Your body forced full of chemicals
to deaden your thoughts
crush them beneath 
the concrete
of this modern, medieval thinking
The stink of ammonia 
and beeping of machines
the strangers who ignore you
like an overlooked water spill on a counter 
or a half full teacup sized wastebin
the TV and cell phones
blaring all the collective anxiety
of money and government 
Far from the warm embrace 
of Mother Earth and 
the sweetest poetry
of nature’s music.

Here’s a giant bill 
You can’t afford
for All The Things you
didn’t want done
Please don’t call the police
on me
just let me die
and wake up
in the sounds of cranes
flying North

We must look at Red
Wet walk blood dead leaves that shock
Bow to nature’s clock

Yellow steals the day
Narcissistic spirit child
How you do beguile

But I will take Blue
Cast into infinity
With the sky and sea

Some nights I can feel you.
Fighting.
Push against  the pull of your soul
Toward a center that is me.
The pendulum swings
Between the chambers of your heart
And you
Are torn
apart

Paper shredded
confetti speckled the deep wood floor

Tiny beagle
wagging her tail with delight

Lunchtime rush
only ten minutes to spare

I yell out of frustration
tiny beagle ducks, locking sad eyes with mine

I take a breath, apologize
offer a small pet on the head

And pick up the pieces

when you put dry shampoo
in your hair
and it turns the roots gray
i think of you
in old age
with wrinkles and laugh lines
and stretch marks,
all sagging and pulling
and evidence that you’ve lived,
and i want to be there.

i heard that the nose keeps growing
even when the rest of you stops
so when i kiss the tip of your nose
i think of you
in old age
nose longer,
rounder still,
and i kiss it a million times more.

when i kissed you on the forehead before work this morning
for the last time,
at least,
for a long time,
i thought of you
in old age
after i’ll have kissed your sleepy face before work
for decades
but now we’d be retired,
resigned to sleeping in,
to kissing each other awake,
since i think that’s what old people
do.

so when you leave tomorrow
and i kiss you for the last time,
at least,
for a long time,
i hope you come back to me.
because i cannot think of myself
in old age
without you by my side.

let your ears perk up at the sound of my stereo voice,

assisting your shuttle

to the warmth of my arms.

let the smell of my perfume;

projected via satellite

guide you somewhere new.

Laika love me from afar,

arms length, lightyears away.

your bones oscillating like a star

in your oven of a cage.