Sunday, April 19, 2009


I read a great deal of books, I have them

Piled in the backseat of my car and I read

Them all and all of them are often read.

That is to say, I suffer, I suffer rather often,

Because all of the books always end and then

Well, unless I begin to read another, then instead

I end up wondering why none of the books were

Written about you, and why none of this, for one

Reason or another, has ever let me know where you’ve

Been or how you are.

(because the books are filled with knowledge, you are all I need to know)


Often, I feel you might have died

Without leaving any words for me to hear, perhaps you are

Still lost somewhere out there but I am beginning to have my

Doubts. I do not check the newspapers anymore, scanning every line

To see a picture of someone I’ve never seen yet I still ask

The mailman to check the bottom of his bag to see if any were any

Letters Left over but none of this makes any sense because I am always

In bed and the mailman is outside and I do not know his name.


I did not expect you to be a part of this piece that I am

Writing because I am angry with you, my arms crossed and

Every bone is never hard, hard enough to crack myself against

The glass. Earlier today I wondered how sad it would be for

Someone to have to return all of the library books I left in

My car after I drove my car off of the bridge in the middle

Of a Saturday afternoon near the beach and all of the books

Would be wet and ruined, wet and ruined, wet and ruined so

I decided I would drive a little slower until I lied.


You know how long its been since someone’s done that for me, lit two cigarettes at once?

1 comment:

Jackie said...

hey pills, sometimes I miss you, i'm baking my 2nd and 3rd loaves of bread that i've ever baked in my life. I don't know if you can see me. there are computers all around. pigs are pin.