dirt verse

I resent the perfection in even the dust that follows you. how can you be this wonderul? why is this? I hope to someday despise you.

I was back in high school and the whole time kept wondering why I was there being this age..and I had to climb a rickety ladder that was tall and narrow with a back pack dangling heavy by my side. My classmate said to hurry, hurry! I finally reached the top. There were tables with coffee cups, napkins, sweets, and a red canopy over the roof of the building. The sun was very bright, so underneath the red, everyone looked pink. I sat down relieved I had made it without falling, my back pack clutched against my heaving chest. I ordered my coffee black, still quite shaken from the climb. And then it suddenly started raining, and the canopy sunk. All the kids jumped off the roof for no reason. I stood there thinking it must have been the caffeine.

I hear the white noise when my chin points down and the spirit living above me pulls away a smidge to get a look at what is on my desk and on my mind maybe look through my pockets to find fragments of fountain drinks and sugar-free chocolate, which was not free nor do I feel free

right now, two weeks from 9:26pm, yesterday, and when you're 7 and 25 you will still be gone and the silk spun from your small, tender hands will remain at the center of me my odd-shaped heart my used-to-be that has all changed for rest of the rest of it. and changed by the only hours and words we have in common words I breathed into you so you could take with you my intensity, what is left of my mind, and the true love I would have shocked you with. you are my magic. I will always be waiting for you to come back.

sister, I love to pour you a cup of coffee. and watch your big, brown eyes follow the steam. and look at your son. and talk about what you are going to cook. and the way you are small and strong. and your thunder laugh. and magic hands. that's what I love.

my eyes are shut against this high-rise window seat I can't hear the cars with them closed this way, but I can hear how they tread the wet december with them open and I just know your eyes are closed but you know I'm out here moving along the mud with my tongue dragging behind me eating the words you leave out the words you don't say you are a devil I hate myself for doing that but I am so exquisite in that dead-walk pathetic and hollow tv watcher maybe devil, that's why you stopped looking my way.