failing, I forget my day

you’d think this

was life on the

plains. that just one

flood would

sink us. that

one drought

would shrink us. we’d

eat and eat, to

starve and

starve. like buffalo.

in the real world i

will break the

floor. i will break

through the floor of

the earth. i will enter

orbit and more things

will revolve around

me than just my

thoughts. watch as

I forget my day.

treading water

when i write

now, i write for

people who

can't read. you think

everything will never

be alright but it will

be. these things that

are my fault, i will

fix them. we don't

have to feel this sick

forever.

"sunny weather will influence

whether you are smiling," he

said, "but not the color

of your eyes." if i'd known this

explanation for independence, i

wouldn't have failed before... but

now we need to talk about you.

syntax

over and over i started

to read this book and fell

asleep and dreamed i’d read

and analyzed. three times i did this.

woke up still on page three, head

ringing with the last analysis in which

the poems were 'dense like gray slate, with all

these molecules just jammed in, just peeling

off.' my actual analysis wasn’t so good, the

gray, though, was a clever guess.

-

also i dreamed that you were with

me still, that we went to your house,

where i insulted your mother. woke up

guilty about the photos. and yet

i wish i could see yours

again, and what you said stupidly about

it before, “you and I and

happiness.” me, you meant. i’m glad

you stayed long enough

to make me a little more sore.

-

i’ve worked this one out. it is so

close. even this is a stretch that

leaves me tense. i am dying for

lack of syntax. how can it be snowing

again? how can it?

slid

the wind’s died

down now. branches

wearing sleeves of

ice; i’ve got routine

maintenance to

do. look, a girl, tiptoeing

along an arc of

white. the bathtub and i

are too shallow for this. i’m

sorry i worried again.

falling into running and this must end

how come it’s never

you? turn off the lights and

just stop. i’m the one waiting

around for you. i’m

the one. measure this, a million

pearly drops for every night

you forgot me, for every night

I stayed in bed to not be touched

by other boys, for every breath

I breathed and didn’t talk

about the past, and didn’t

talk about the future. how come

you’re never losing me? i’m

the one. i’m losing both

of us. even the computer

is breaking, won’t spit out

this disk, hold down the

mouse and fix it, i can fix

this, i can fix… i can’t fix

the sewing machine, the last

outlet. i baked but got

burned. your feet hurt, so

what, that’s great, baby, just

stop. i won’t eat that. just

stop. i go down on my knees and

the skinned one stings and i

cry out. this? it was never

a choice. don’t bother

to wait around, why should

you join me in this, why should

both of us do it, why?

all i can remember now

the thing i wanted to explain

is this, wisdom cutting

through pink, drinking coffee when

there’s not much left and it

gets cold fast. last year’s thin snow

couldn’t hide me, couldn’t hide

the dark spots, the frost heaving.

it is so high now but this

does not bury us, we

traverse, we do no

crossovers. in three months we

will touch legs, our pupils

will close, our eyelashes dry, we

will tremble, wounded

at the relief of spring. too much,

a flood, the comfort. say it,

“you’re mine,” and i’ll say

“you can’t knit a quilt,” i’ll say “i waited

to wash my hair to keep

your hands in it,” i’ll say

“where” is this, “why” is this, and

circle, and search. you don’t like

poems. i don’t like pants.