AM baptism

My pained hands
From the frigidity in the air
Are warmed by the thought of you
Waiting for me
Somewhere off in the distance of time.
So many words
Yet to be fathomed and crafted into a series of sequenced stories
Only for your ears.
And you began the story
Yesterday eve
As we sat in the place that warms every inch of my
Heart.
And yet this night,
I recall
Those countless nights
When the expression of my emotive experience
Was trodden by your tied tongue
And I wander within wantonness.

The leaves have fallen.
They were carried down the stream
By which we sat
Many months ago
And where we will sit many months from now.
The stream carries them down that mountain
In water so cold
it makes the minutes on a clock stand still
and the pebbles beneath the surface
are frozen in a moment
just like you and me.

why i like trees

This morning
My car reeked of you
And she
She doesn’t give a fuck
About me
Or you.

I wish I could mail her a broom
With a note attached that read,
“fly your way to hell.”

And this evening
This evening
This dark, frosty, clear-skied evening,
I was
One hundred and seventy-five percent of a mile
From your front door.
Through my rage,
I was wishing.
Wishing those wheels to turn themselves
To you.
Instead,
I am sitting on the side of this dark lonely highway
Amid the signage for right and wrong,
Under the covers of fear and harshness,
raw and exposed on my own journey;
On my own way to my own version of hell.
Sitting her sniffing the stinch of frustration
And splatting my lap
With tears of pain and sorrow
misery and animosity.

I yelled at the Chinese take out lady
I became them
Them that I have escaped only just
And some could chock it up to hormones
But I know the difference
Unlike you.

You
You who never showed up at my door
Never wishing your wheels to whirl towards me
Never wanting from me
Never needing what I gave.

You ask why
Or how
With countless words.

And this one time
This one time in my whole life,
I will factually state.

Your Words Are Empty.

As they have always been
Even as they were hurled
Through the winds of my emotion.
But never
Never have you Ever
mustered even average quantities of courage
To gust an ounce of your own air
In the direction of me.

So I’ll perch here
With my pen and craft words
for me
breezing my own wind
burdening myself with the responsibility of defining truthfulness
And compassion
Fairness and honesty
And my words will never curve
From the equation of me.
They were and are and will always be
words overflowing
With the mode of life’s mean.
And I will nurture and passion those words
Into actualities
With not a whim
Of you.