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The ravenous lack of love in the worldThe desolation of itEvery time the bandage is pulled offI screamTo see it uncovered againEven only for a secondThe unhealed, never healedWound that gapesThat scorns all sense and reasonThat grinds every care andTendernessInto sandSo that all I can doIs build castlesAnd ignore the tide

I threw out all the screenplaysPoems novels everythingUntil I’d shed enough ballastOf blameAnd stopped sinkingBut by then they were gone No gaps in the shelvesNo boxes straining with memoriesI don’t need to rememberMy dreams my hopes my futuresThey’re the phone calls my mother never answersLike she says,“If it’s important they’ll call back.”

Your inward breathYour heartbeatYour slow exhaleAre all expressionsAs beautiful as any flower, or sunset, or sculpture

Unburned wood in the firepitThis is meHalf ashes, half too green to burnJust waiting for air and sun and timeTo dry out the unburned self until I can receiveThe spark

Just maybe I’m up for putting words together or something. I don’t know.