Still working off the back wall. I will be for a while, really.  This is another one I can’t really put a date to, but if I were to make my best wild guess, it would be somewhere around 2009-2010.

Letter from a Stranger

The words that slipped past my lips were turpentine.
Now that I’ve whitewashed everything
I wonder where ‘I’ began and ‘we’ ended,
who to blame.

I hate phrases like ‘we grew apart’
because I’m not a plant.
I’ve made choices.

and because
what’s between us didn’t arrive with
the slow thaw of winter:
We’re tectonic.
When we come together, the earth moves.

But we’ve worn so many masks
that we’ve run out of face.

Now all that’s left of me
is a hollowed-out skull
bleeding ten-point words.

Maybe someday
I’ll finally tell the beatnik in me
that she’s a no talent hack
and start talking to you instead of
around you.

I’ll stop telling stories.
I’ll grow suddenly wise.
that everything we are
and everything we want
has nothing to do with what we need
…or who we need it from.

and maybe someday
you’ll hear this poem
and see me for who I am
without words.