Lighthouse Melodrama

I told you that if
you were to die before me
I would become a
lighthouse operator on
some desolate shore
with my typewriter
tapping out novels and
poetry while a
tugboat delivered my
food and letters
twice a week.

You replied that it was
just like me to
romanticize the fear
that grips my heart
and to be plotting
my escape already
but that I would not
survive with such an
absence of attention.

I do not think you
understand how much
I like you or
how little I like people
who aren’t you.



Warning: Fragile.

I put my hand on my chest
and I knew without looking
that my heart was broken.

I could feel the shards
rattling against my ribs
and piercing my lungs.

I coughed up your last words
bloody and shining diamonds
into the palm of my hand.

How could something that had
seemed so beautiful be
wreaking havoc on my soul?

I guess you could argue that
having a heart made of glass
was not a good idea after all.


I Don’t Know If I Can Miss You, But I’ll Remember You

Whispered voices try to comfort me
and I say that I am doing fine-
I do not know how to miss
something that was never mine.
We were both forces of nature
on opposing sides most days
a chess board just for us of
attacking and counterattacking plays.
I can remember both the good and the bad
and find sleep with ease tonight
without having to wonder if
the decisions I made were right.
You and I were veterans of funerals
and you were ready to take your turn
but I’m still here with a whisky neat
thinking of you while I enjoy the burn.
I will wear a black dress once again
but without your hand to hold
amongst the tombstones I will know
it is a privilege to grow old.



We held court among
the tombstones in
their rows like dominoes
and like the game
tiles represented those
that fell and others
who quickly followed.

We understood our own
precarious position
of being players
left in a game that
could yield no winners.


Ain’t No Rest

The dead we buried
were not satisfied
being ghosts and I
felt sure I would see
a skeleton hand pierce
through the dirt
atop the frozen ground
and wrap fingers around
my beating heart to take
what they were cheated.


Heat Resistant

Heat Resistant
I can’t pull my hand from the flame
no matter how badly I get burned
and I should have known better since
I heard that you were the goddamn
Prometheus of breaking hearts
but I hope someday I’ll learn that
where there’s smoke there’s fire
and any love worth possibly having
won’t make you sift your heart from the ashes.