Day: Part I Nevermind. Nevermind. I’m not writing anymore. It all sounds the same. Territory I’ve seen before And I’ll see again tomorrow. Nothing changes Even when it seems That nothing stays, That nothing stays the same. There is no point anyway No one reads poetry anymore There’s no fame Waiting at the end of a sonnet. I sit in this classroom Swallow my education like dry bread Sit here and mourn for these students Glazed eyes, numb minds The living dead. Gape at how we abuse And misconstrue The simplest points of each other’s souls How the very good And the very kind Can fall behind Sacrificed to confusion Or the good of the whole. I hum a Carole King song to myself And wonder how the meaning Of such a small thing Could have gotten so lost. How my heart could so outweigh my mind That I failed to measure the cost Or watch where I stepped. And now it’s too late I’ve thrown myself over the edge And into space. It still holds true though No matter the time No matter the place Just call out my name And wherever I am I’ll come running To see you again. Day: Part II I sit at a desk In a little office On a short Green street And ponder permanence. Looking at my hands And my lily-white arms At the fingers so brutal In their miniature charm amazed at how things can change while you sleep Shift without notice, like sand, beneath feet. How a month or a moment Can cause irreparable harm Or shake you from a crowning seat To sit like a jester At another’s feet Waiting to catch your breath. Waiting to catch your death. I try to collect My embattled personality Placing one foot in front of another Wondering if I’ll ever be free Or if this will hover Limp and cloying Over the rest of my days. Night: Part I Standing with my feet Huddled deep In winter boots Waiting for the snow Trying to drag my spirits Hangin’ so low— Scraping the street— Up from where they hang, Pull my self together So I can earn my keep. See if I can’t find the roots That prompt my restless sleep And wake me in the night To wander here with shuffling steps Looking hopelessly For a world I’ve left. Day: Part III Verisimilitude An oversized word To ask if I am real. A ridiculous question In this theater of the absurd. I simply don’t know. You tell me. And don’t you dare say We reap what we sow. This is not what I planted Or wanted to grow. Night: Part II This was another of those days In which I failed to inhabit myself Just watched the battle unfold Staring through the window Like Tiny Tim left out in the cold. My arm is swollen From damage inflicted A choke chain outlined in flesh The scars are old But the bruises are fresh. After all is done The loneliness continues unabated The silence is weighted Slow moving and thick with purpose Swallowing my body desecrated As I move towards incoherence. I believe suicide is the most practical Of all decisions. I promised God Or whoever it is who listens when I pray That I’d put the knife away But I didn’t say I’d stay. Night: Part III What’s it matter? It doesn’t. No one will admit that But it’s true. It’ll make a difference to you And I’m sorry But you’re gonna go someday too And so on And so forth. This whole madness is a farce. I suppose by the same logic I might as well live And saying I don’t want it Even a little Would be a bit of a fib. I’m curious But curiosity Isn’t worth this. And I’m getting increasingly trite Being sloppy with my words So I’ll stop for the night.