September 2012

That’s Not Your Problem

Mansions on the hill court order, make

unwelcome advances, fall back in flames.


Always in the wrong room at the house party,

friends later ask, where did Stephen even get a monkey?


Somewhere there is a rubicon

marked by a cross, or crossed by a mark.


Injury reports bodily foreshortened,

out with a leg, but never the break.


Mood oscillations sync perfectly with awareness

of your existence, but wait that’s not fair.


My love waits for you like a dog on a work day,

perpetually poised, surprises in your shoes.


Love is easy in the coming,

but going — that leaves claw marks.


In dreams of flight I miss connections, wind up sitting

alone by the ocean, out with a heart.