lean shell
i have been told to count on trusted counsel
try to catch the falling snow, called it a pledge,
as if that would solve the problems, hanging
to my immediate left on the threshold’s edge.
for you asked me, how’s life? cross-legged sitting back
in the empty computer room, cozy enough for two.
you’d love to exchange some thoughts on not sleeping,
playing mobile games and crying midnight through.
late lunch break was when you put up your mascara,
said you’d plant a kiss on the silver bathroom lead
leaving lip balm markers, punched the number pad
calling nobody at home because your mother’s dead.
then i saw them staring at me wide-eyed, speaking
with determination to keep away from hue and cry,
leaving only muted screams of tears in blood
barely camouflaged by your vivid scarlet dye.
straying away from form room i inquired of the east
for what could i if my doubt lies in your to-be change?
my fingers desperately trying to your next steps clasp,
lighter than smoke, and to the dimmest parts arrange.
with palms burying my face, i had headphones blaring loud
in my ears, not listening to your chatter with someone else.
new to my role to play, i questioned my approach
whether to drive right in, pace or tiptoe with stealth.
i know, to the living there are a thousand ways to live
with which death clearly would not well rhyme.
but to those six feet under, there is no way for light
to reach, and yet a thousand to die a second time.
so how’s life? – great, i’m alive – silently i added,
i can’t bear my terrors last night of you begone
to heaven or heaven; for neither is more material
and neither would reign thy true self certain.
drifting mesa