I had waited with statues
every boiling day,
measured ruin from the city.
its skin/years peeled
back, baring wet stone
filled with shadows,
and one day:
a passerby with newspaper underarm,
a bowler hat, all black,
eyes in shadows,
then birds dove
to concrete like pennies,
shadows. wishing
for black flowers,
no words
even to myself,
going on . . . two days,
four hours, one more minute
draws the line of her
neck and one more
forever
praying with two blinded eyes
and one breath:
flees with smoke
like a lover
at midnight, no
where but the sky.
move on, sweet fire.
shadows, shadows, shadows . . .
in a motel room,
no one else checked in,
standing by the window,
one cigarette,
can I even fucking wait?
that song repeats again, again
I won't sleep, I won't dream,
I won't cry, I won't.
a stranger touched my arm.
I didn't look at them.
a moth, frozen ink-stain
on this plywood door,
a train cries, life carried
by, just as crippled?
suicidal night, the moon
sheltered in our shadows,
I climb into the shower
and wait.
naked, trembling
in the white center
of this bed,
last smoke in hand,
ash on the pillow.
the sea is somewhere else.
everyone is sleeping.
one more drag, one less
chance, no thoughts, the silence
hiding in these hands,
hiding in this blood, no,
in these words,
its in what I wish they were,
what I cannot make,
what I'm left to see
in lies
of gesture, hand to cheek,
look and then away,
you should have known, one
is not enough, one more sigh,
its not enough, one more day
still waiting in the dark,
where I used to be,
where I can't go back,
no, I cannot even remember,
one more sigh,
and then it's gone.
and then, it's gone.