Confide in
rhythmic sound,
a soggy aria
that stretches, untroubled,
as you waken.
(Can this be between you and me?)
Eyes open, elaborate about
what was so good last night,
drifts of a hi-fi nightmare, the most
beautiful volume.
All this time, a pact to
turn down the dream.
Why didn't you wake me?
You thought I should rest,
wait until tomorrow but
I'm capable of seeing the
proof of tears.
1.
It was 12:30,
diary open,
the page marked "DAY ONE."
High, she didn't
like that part of herself.
2.
Something scared her.
She wouldn't talk to me,
said she couldn't see me any more.
Around her neck, the last touches
of a troubling thought.
3.
She snuck out of her house
the night she died.
I didn't know she wanted
to be clean.
Drive off,
the rest of the day mapped out,
mouth completely full of suspicion -
you think you could
keep this secret much longer?
Concussion reflected in
Laura's eye, interrogation of
two Sundays,
using each other but
not saying so.
It had something to do with
the last time you saw her, you think,
a bite of cocaine and a
queen of night.
Sometimes I get so flushed,
squeezed by the decision
of a dark red bloodstain
on a faded blue work shirt.
Do your palms ever itch?
There was something I
didn't like about her,
obsessively confused,
the perfect folds of
a dirty fear.
Bang shut the forehead,
a hand benignly cleaning
the moment, used morning.
Come by, sit here;
hear me say
I'm gonna be good.
Sitting on the carpet,
hint of a nightmare
perches six inches over
dawn, but of course
you've heard me
tell that story before.
Cremate the things that
continue to trouble me:
the way we hear him
before we see him,
talking needles and a
waterfall of hard life.
I can't tell you how many
breaks I've had, a hand
to stop old habits but
I haven't tried
and this is the best I've promised,
will die right there,
damn pretty and holding the choice.
I'm going to be here for a while,
treading softly downtown,
the black water of a deserted intersection.
I used to think
it was so peaceful here,
thick wood and
neon dancers and
the brush of back streets.
Everything's changed - do you feel it?
Empty cycles,
a hand holding tomorrow
in gnarled life,
the glisten of
early anger.
Can anything ever be the same again?
Dirt path - night,
a sharp crest,
the surface of the highway
steers them off the side of the road and
up through the woods.
She slides her arms around him -
tenderness in her gesture
when you least expect it.
Looking up, Orion's best over-awed
to understand the good reason
for tonight,
threat, relief approaching.
The girl is amplified,
never saw so many stars.
Driving hysterical
we blindly move to
face the need,
to look at God, his cheek a
shallow trench.
Let go of
what we started,
the comforting pull of
reacting to dirt.
Together, we bury this act,
the other half of a gold heart,
a white rock to mark the spot.
We shouldn't be seen here.
Slide into the hole,
hide what just happened.
High like a nightmare,
there are things about me
I still can't believe
and you,
a different thought, anguished.
I wanted to get better but
it wasn't making any sense,
pulled into any alibi,
the fades of levelling fault.
I knew you'd hate this, a calm
kind of dying I had to see
from the inside.
It's okay to hold on
to the light, so urgent
in its last time.
It's not your fault
this is so desperate,
yielding to the kiss of distance.
