I kept everything you gave me

In a small plastic container

In a bankers box

In storage

Where I visit you sometimes

Behind a steel shutter door

Padlocked and

Secure

Sometimes you’re there

Others you’re just stuff

Relics of the past

Which I’ll never destroy

Because life is very long

And even though you’ll never know

I still need you some days

On days like yesterday

To bring me back from

these Matchbook Memories

What breaks me doesn’t make me

stronger have you heard

How opposites attract me

without a single word

But feeling without feeling

it’s not a look I’d choose

Now stripped from sole to clavicle

the fear of being used

Presents me with a question mark

no matter what I do

Repeating like a replica

like I’m some form of you

Reaching in my pocket for

a reason to be saved

What breaks me doesn’t make me but

I’ll learn some other way

Like how the cacti flowers from

the desert dry as bone

Or how the chrysalis consumes

itself then finds a home

Or how the wolf does stray

to die a lone cub in the dark

It’s there I lie on grass stained sheets

like stray dogs in the park

Golden hour

Chewing on ice chips

Not much to say

This is all very blah—

Picking apart the day

like grey hairs uninvited.

The people wait in line

for frappe’s and creamsicles

dripping wet from leaky faucet

mouths of children half asleep.

And mom’s mother Mary Annette

dangling her strings from crooked joints

to anyone who will listen,

even the kids tune her out.

And boredom spread like smiles

over reluctant father’s faces

who’d kill to keep their family safe,

and at the same time be anywhere but.

What a time to be alive, says the old man

generic in his enthusiasm,

talking nowhere, you know back in my day—

Nickels. Dimes. And War.

It’s no wonder there’s limits on parking

and aspects of life we don’t bring up,

and crystal balls and metaphysical shops

selling peace of mind for change.

This is all very blah—I know,

it’s just someone’s wearing GAP Dream,

the same perfume she used

to remove me from her skin

on car rides home

before either of us could drive.

I used to skip class in the city

and sit with homeless in the park.

I just didn’t understand and

it gave me anxiety headaches

trying to relate to my peers.

The men there didn’t say much,

they just mulled over my presence

and respected my silent hour.

I got an A that semester.

My instructor even praised my final—

some interview I rushed, and

it was there I found

How silly it all was.

And how little I’d have to try—

It’s like I didn’t have to be there at all

and it would all keep moving.

It would all be weightless

and either way in debt

To my semester

In the park

…

Baby I’m not bad news I’m

just full of empty space

If you’re the rope then I’m the noose

you’ll tie then say my grace

Would you agree I came too soon

like mornings sunken face

When hopes and dreams were plentiful

since then I’ve been replaced—

By what our mothers told us not

to worry, we were young

For what our fathers griped about

at home when they were done

It wasn’t them but us who felt

their pains of growing old

Now adults we’re much younger than

their hands which we still hold—

Cause baby you’re the good news I’ve

been keeping from myself

It’s for the best, regardless yet

I’ll wish then wish you well

And if by chance there’s room enough

to hang around a while

It’s there they’ll say it’s quite a shame

what an awful, gentle smile