The Tower Reversed

It's that feeling —

You've missed the last train

And now you need to find 

Another way home

It'll be ok.

I'm sad about the sadness I won't ever know

Do you think about your funeral?

Wishing you could be there 

I think about mine

What a party, they'll say

(I hope)

It's like that, though

These endings that never began

Do things left unstarted still need closure?

Poems unwritten

Family names unclaimed

Yes, sadness unshared

A tower that never crumbles

The stones erode and erode and remain as ruins.

That kitchen sinking feeling

Do you remember standing over the sink
Heaving? 
I was there, too, I was heaving
Heavily breathing in the basin
There were walls between us
And worlds
You wouldn't have seen me there because
We were not together at your sink
The were two sinks or maybe more
There must be so many sinks to heave into 
When the going gets tough
There must be miles of tunnels of scum
There must be boys who grow into men who push boats through the snot to break it up to make room for more tragedies
They must have nicknames for each other. 
Doesn't that seem like the type of occupation
In which colleagues call out to each other 
Echoing through the stony expanse of subterrain 
"Hey, Noodle, we need an extra oar over here!" 
And Noodle, in the darkness bellows, "Can't right now, Moose,
I'm up to my elbows in it." 

Together they're just one person

Hedy Lamarr

Harry Styles 

Micheal Eisner

Chico Marx

James Lipton

Armie Hammer

Chelsea Handler

Chester Arthur

Melissa Joan Heart

Judith Butler

Legolas

Nica Horvitz

Toto

B.F. Skinner 

Inspired my Mark Leidner's poem Sissy Spacek.

Yikes

EVERYTHING IS DYING 

Outside the truck approaches

The special truck sent post Christmas 

The Christmas trees are out on the curb 

BUT NOT MINE MOTHERFUCKER

Mine still smells like pine and

Beowulf died last night

He was also a cat, not mine

Choosing to die on inauguration day 

I DON'T BLAME YOU BEO

Everything beautiful is on the curb

They are closing Macy's which is fine

But what about the Wanamaker organ

I am so far away and can't hear it play

OH GOD AND THE FIRES THEY ARE 

Still burning yes, yes, my Fraser fir

Is a fire hazard but I can't bear the loss

Not until the sun decides to wake me

Before the smartphone catches on that

It's tomorrow.

For the cat who was there during my 7 failed IUI attempts with a goofy ABBA pattern

How I treasure

That you were here

When it was clear

That the measure

Of my grieving

Would not exceed 

The present need

Of your leaving

You in my arms

At journey's end

Come softest friend 

To no more harm 

This motherhood

Was small and sweet

In my defeat

I've understood

My happiness: 

Expecting less

One holy catholic apostolic

Bible in the free box

Leatherbound feather pages

Makes you wonder

Disillusion or proselytizing ?

I am back with the nuns

Talking about the New Testament 

God's love like a cage is

Freedom from the pain 

Of endlessness 

There are rules in here and rules

Help you know when you are right

And it is happy to be right

It was right to marry you then 

At least, I was happy, so

You pointed to the timeline 

When I pointed to the lock

"It's only been two years"

Which didn't seem fair considering 

The impact of morality politics 

On the trajectory of our love affair 

I don't think I am naive to think 

It would have worked with us

The goodwill that fills me

It is why I still love the idea of Jesus

Despite this fear of men

It is what draws me to the free box

Though you know the nuns and I

We're all witches now.

Cat

Soft friend

When we were young you slept tucked into my neck

I might still be young but you are not 

And I'm too hungry to sleep

Starved for conversation and commited 

To never leaving this house

Not while there's a world out there

These long walks through the snow and 

This is why I moved here yes yes but 

I'd rather stay tucked in

There are chips in the cupboard 

Chips! To stay home with me.

Metro men vomiting on the benches 

We could be in bed right now

Enjoying the outside inside 

Planning a future

I have 11 friends and some of them have partners 

Maybe they will come

You of course will be dead 

Dead like fathers and winter 

And all the other softest things

And spells

So many knocks on the door this morning

It could have been anyone but it was no one

Certainly not the letter you said you sent

I checked but there was only a person 

Crossing the street with swollen ankles

The dog barked, too, then stopped.

Your sweats are newly covered in gunk. 

There are poems and poems and spells 

And I have done nothing all day

But try to learn new ways to say that

You prefer vegetables from the market (Arabic) 

And I saw an elephant for the first time (Japanese) 

Meanwhile I keep asking for money and explaining what I've done with the money

Sometimes I listen to old conversations

I shouldn't have recorded you in the bar 

I should have replayed this months ago

Though I don't think I ever understood you. 

Just that you often wanted to die which

Seems to be the major takeaway 

Me, too, by the way.

All this science, all this analysis,

All this oozing from your forehead, 

It's all poems and poems and poems.

Gifts

If you're wondering 

Non-rhetorically

Where the beauty went

If you really want to know 

You can see them :

Diamonds on my cheeks 

A January luxury 

Alongside tea and socks

But these gems were 

Gifted by the wind 

So much more fleeting 

And precious.

Two haiku about love

Through the thinnest skin

Your blood surges forth as waves

My ear to your neck

You are a beetle

I bring you various plants

See your colors change

Timeline

Was it the last night of the year

Or the first

When does time start? 

Either way I woke up choking 

On my tongue

Which is not as nice

As choking on yours.

The cat is still alive but thinning 

And the watered pine is still waning

This beginning is brimming 

With endings.