mismanaged grief.
murder on South Wacker.
a heart left a man.
killing him instantly.
there are blank spaces
between lips and streets,
lives and eyes and seamless dreams,
and in those places
exists something rare,
as well as raucous,
the loud things that are left unsaid.
the thief is gorgeous
on this poetic night,
between Xmas and New Year's,
and this is where
the disappearing happens,
doubtless.
somewhere cold
and kept in snow,
always in always,
waiting for something
that doesn't wait for me,
because I am a fool
for extinction on love's level.
to the other side,
I ask myself
where did 5 years go?
the are pieces missing
from this puzzle
and they are right in the middle,
so everyone notices,
even my friends under the El,
and my name is synonymous
with what might've been.
potential is profane these days,
in my veins and under my pillow,
because I would dive off of Denver
just for a shot at holding
limbs again and collarbone court,
to declare to the wide world
that I split things in two
and created said space,
but I am still here,
less smiles, more miles.