SSH 205

Three hours I have spent

frozen in this chair.

Her mouth releases nonsense,

her eyes leak a codeine-induced stare.

It's always a long morning

when I have this class.

My peers spend it ridiculing

her lectures, because they are so crass.

I wait for two o'clock,

when I leave this room.

I cannot focus my attention

on this prof's crazy, face-like cartoon.

I wish I knew the point

and why I must pay

to spend Mondays listening

to the useless things she has to say.

I will wait for April,

two more months away,

only to start my classes again

at the very beginning of May.

spider's irony.

Netted in a web

was a flailing fly

trapped in the spider's bed

he could not help but cry.

He shook and wriggled

flapping tiny wings

but the spider giggled

and circled him like rings.

The spider came close

looking eye to eye.

The fly became morose,

as he waited to die.

And in one swift move

the web fell instead,

leaving both beneath shoes

where they were left for dead.

leaning.

The kitten is tired of playing

with this string and me.

So it just dangles there like

I had dangled my heart

in front of you for you to

catch, but you never did.

I'm leaning here on yesterday

because it's tied to closely to

this morning and the sound

of rain running down the

window like the tears that

had run down my face.

And your sympathy is all

that you left me with as I

lay, surrounded in rhetoric

while somewhere, someone

is living through the same

hurt, but choosing to stay.

There is only hope for tomorrow

and that with each passing day

you will fade from my memory

like fog fading when the cold

outside air mixes with the

warmth of my room.

I only wonder if rearranging

the words exchanged would

bring another meaning or

another way to say what

we had to say, instead

of saying goodbye.

And all the while, I continue

to dangle this string and

my broken heart in the

face of something that

might change how I

feel and make it OK.

war, not love.

The snow sparkles and melts

with each imprint he leaves

on the sidewalk as he

moves like molasses

down the street.

His nose is swollen and matches

his wine-stained lips from

when he drank with her,

laughing, then crying,

earlier that evening.

And as he walks, there is a clear

struggle to his steps that is

pulling him backwards,

back to the spot they

parted and left.

His hands clasp around a velvet box

that he removes from his coat and

opens, staring briefly at its

contents before throwing

into the snow.

His eyes gleam and puddle,

his mouth moving from

sadness to anger and a

frown to a scowl and

back to a frown.

Flashing images abduct his mind

with pictures of the girl, his girl,

tangled in bedsheets with

someone who is not him

but who is a thief.

On the corner there is a small house

made of bricks that break his skin

as he hurls his fists at them

over and over as his

blood stains them.

Once his knuckles are raw and bare

he replaces them with his head

cracking his skull open against

the little brick house that

is taking a beating.

At home, she locks the door one,

two, three times, and moves on

to shut each window before

entering the bathroom

to clean her wounds.

Her broken nose has not yet healed

from the time he used her head

to smash the house's bricks

until it was flattened

against her face.

She dresses the wound and studies

her scabs, cuts and bruises

and all the while she

is breathing slowly

and smiling.

we, you, i.

we rode together, underneath the bridge.

blue lights of the bus, reflecting off your face.

as if you were choking, gasping for air.

the longer we traveled, the shorter it felt.

we were nearing something, in my mind i

was pushing it away, closing my eyes.

on the porch i glanced at your mouth, sneering.

you pushed me inside and pulled me into you.

i grasped the edge of your bed, strangling.

tricked with the promise of friendship, platonic.

you came closer, your breath fanning my face.

i turned to leave, but your arms were a trap.

you were too heavy, dead weight on my body.

soon, my limbs froze, i shuddered beneath you.

i was your play thing that you used, forgot.

never stopping to ask how it would change me.

i was something clean you could soil, break.

bodies touching, my mind, running away.

we would pass in the halls without words to say.

you with your friends, acting the same as always.

i stayed alone, not wanting to look up.

we had been something more before that one night.

you used to be what kept me calm, grounded.

i now know the difference between dark, light.

leaves.

in the trees, leaves clap together.

brushing each other for warmth.

the frozen ones snap off, dance in the wind.

they land, barely touching the ground

before they are swept up again, away.

they kiss the sides of houses, greeting.

connecting with each building, being,

as they move into the blackest night.

no time to rest, forever traveling, dancing.

visually manifest that nature is fleeting.

their short lives in time with the seasons.

born from the ground, killed by the sky.

alive for just a moment, a brief visit.

no different than the lives of you and i.

when our winter comes, we die.

circles.

in circles i ran

chasing a tail.

spinning so fast,

chasing a tale.

i spun around,

not making a catch.

what i wanted,

not able to grasp.

always ahead,

a few steps away.

the hope of you,

farther each day.

i would reach,

grab thin air.

you were too fast,

no longer there.

so i slowed,

took time to breathe.

and i looked up,

watched you leave.

with time to think,

and you now gone,

i realized that

we had been all wrong.

i was just chasing

a tale, a dream.

i though all along,

needed you to breathe.

i no longer chase.

i no longer run.

i no longer fight.

they will come,

when they come.