We all stopped fighting a few years ago. The throwing stopped and there was little poetry left. Suddenly, it had slowly become about average hangovers and average snakes among average weeds. We stopped the bedroom hopscotch and crippling verses but I can see them all if I close my eyes and feel my feet on…

you my winter you my fall i can tell i miss you as leaves scatter

if i were asleep in the mist, i would believe this was the pale coast, the morning rolling slowly from the belly of the earth and the back of the ocean.

I saw our house today, the one we never lived in. I could see the sunshine.The porch we were excited to sweep. The patio, dripping with ivy. I can taste it from here and feel how the air seemed like slippery grass.  The emptiness of the adjoing school yard, warped and hot on a thick…

But some times, the message is just there.

this is me gone like a kite on fire flames and blazes flying