like the ash of my cigarette

or all the uninhabited bodies

and burnt buildings.

The sidewalk,

the parking lot,

the overlooked streets

seem shy or quiet.

Neutral like Switzerland

or the boring wardrobes

of Corporate America.

The unconventional

Wedding tuxedos

Not one extreme

or the other.

On the fence,

Never alive, no.

Not ever loud or bright

or anything other than matter.

Like shadows stuck to the backs

of those who dwell

in the sunlight.

Looming dark and ominous,

mysterious, like storm clouds

and walls of rain.

Thick like fog

so solid and lacking

all the bite of lightning

Temporary

like pencil sketches

on overcast days

outlines and first drafts

and fleeting like memories

in old photographs

and the smoke

from my cigarette.

that could make me cry or laugh or

sigh pensive sighs while making still frames

in open doorways that I might have been proud

to have for the first time ever

but there is a lack of priority in desperation

even as the sun sets on blankets stacked

two inches high, I should have wanted a bed

a television set, something a little richer

than this picture perfect touch that you took

and placed so carelessly everywhere

and I was so happy to be touched by anyone

for a little while, while waiting on you to

come through, come back, come around

to fix the brakes, the tiny fractures of my esteem

to fix anything that you left broken and open

between the stasis of our hushed needs -

our mouths barely touched once when you just

wanted to know, to test the waters as if we

had been that sweet together ever

but on our best behavior, and our first encounter

I was on my knees, bruised eye, trying to please you

but in the dark you never noticed the sound of my heart

as it fell in sync with your breath

I mistook you for life so much that we created it accidentally

and decided we made it all for someone else

and you were almost the death of me

of dreams and hope – god how you could create hope

and sighs and anticipation but none of that is life

it’s perfectly well working brakes that still need fixing

a glass measuring cup that measures nothing

trespassing within my complacency
my dull sanity

a piston pumping sexless intrusion

wasted words come all over the walls
a bouncing echo around this cell

a stray word flies off every angle
like a failed conversation, it keeps me flailing
reaching for some hint of me in all of this you

let me sacrifice to the altar of your ego

place your loving hands inside my growing need
and let chemistry feed this biology

we are no more than sitting ducks unfucking our attractions
stroking flaccid masterpieces just to feel the grip