Wandering/You are still such a dream I can't grasp I'm awake/It makes me want to melt into what is at stake
All in Poetry
Thud
Thud thud/But nothing is there/No one is here/Why can’t I move/I am in slow motion.
Youth
Struggling, seeking, sorting, salvaging:
No Saint to Save—
Building, breaking, blaming, bandaging:
No Bliss to Miss—
That I’ll get better, that you’ll get better,
That we’ll really try this time and stomp down rain-slicked streets like we own them
Instead of scurrying through desolate alleyways like frightened children
Hopelessly lost and without umbrellas, nails bitten, and nerves shot
Our way back home lost the second we stepped out of the door
Untitled
I’m tired of taking the train that always arrives,
the one that doesn’t halt in a blizzard for you to meet his eyes,
the drifting snow covers all of the signs.