In Which I Don't Know.

so here it is,
that overflowing empty breath,
ragged and rasping and hot.
that old face you never recognize
the first time.
those claws
pulling everyone under you
to hold you up
despite their pleas and protests -
i'm not a foundation, i'm not a rock, i'm a person.

here it is again,
that useless vacuum,
those wet blurred intersections.
those lonely spaces full of secret
primal screams and old infected scars,
and you know them more than yourself
(you know everything more than yourself).
that clinging familiarity,
that revulsion.

In Which I Just Took Melatonin So This Might Make No Sense.

lovers dance in words
amongst the stars,
over living hills
and
into the dreams of the
crumpled and the dry,
lost, or old,
the lonely or
just alone in a bed,
fifty miles
or a tank of gas
and two or so hours
away from
the one whose sleepy sighs
are peace enough on
most nights.