Fragments

Bits and pieces not necessarily related....


I know no other word for love,
I know no other word for you,
but love and you, you and love,
love and you and you.


______

Sometimes, it is like having a ghost stuffed in your mouth, a phantom lurking blindly behind the couch, waiting for you to sit, yes, sit quietly, listen to the TV and then suddenly, spark, a flashlight flash and you're thinking, he's here, no, he's not here, are there two in the room or just me?

And other times, we write letters to strangers, seek no one to speak to, seek hard, seek up and down, climb stairs, jump stairs, under stairs, perhaps under the sink -- have you checked the pipes? Where did we stuff his fingers, the soles of his feet? Is he dead

or just an afterthought, a flavor of the week, he'll be back, that's what you say, you liar, you heartless lying slug he'll be back, he's on his way, just fifteen seconds more he's on his way....

_______



because most days I can't find
anything, not a damned slip of paper
or a noteworthy thought, anything to jot down
on envelopes, bank cards, order forms, receipts,

and when asked for a name, I give your address
as though I could ever travel
by way of bus stop, or common flight to meet you
midpoint, halfway there.

___________________

Sometimes, sometimes, it sneaks up around corners

and springs, outstretched, claws

into the neck.

It strikes between

words, skewered

on a pike; where is my head?

rolling

no doubt, 

holding myself

high in conversation, 

I am struck down by 

what is behind me; what is over 

my shoulder.