Ballad for a Young Couple

I have become an oboe -
blaring and loud.
She complains about it,
but this only makes me ignore her more.
Making love to the entire orchestra,
she makes her complaint better known.

God Bless You!

I laid her out on the table
and began chopping her into pieces.
Each one smaller than the last
until I there were none to be seen.
I blew at the dust she had become
and scattered her across the room.

A ragged doll in the corner,
a few friends gone from her side.
Sewn together with contempt,
our unraveling is effortless.

How far?

Our skin a few inches
Our minds a few feet
Our hearts a few miles
Away

Many Roads to Freedom

While unpacking dishes

my wife threw herself

against the wall,

shattering all the love

that existed between her

and I.

More than her

A man walked into his kitchen
and died.

His wife, upon finding his corpse
still smiling,
knew -

the aroma of coffee
he loved much
more than her.

Across a Room (Miles Away)

I take it all
back.

Well you can't,
it's all but done

Then forward I would drag us
on the heels of our love.

Don't.

There's light afar
and hope among

deflected, spent
and dulled.

By choice or fate
I'll carry through

miscarried like
your childish view

With pleasured

pain

efforts

failed

It's time

to put

these thoughts

to bed.

Misled

I pour her over the cliff
and expect nothing to return.
Perhaps the geometry
of our situation has misled us.

About the whole thing

I throw her to the ground
and she shatters...
I am still finding
fragments of her
in the carpets,
under the couches,
and in my hair.
I feel silly about the whole thing.

The Burden

She cried into her shoe again last night.
They are heavy with the moisture of her burden.
I can barely carry the weight of them.

Out into the sun to dry I suppose.

In the Car

We are always thinking,
Her and I,
Of ways to perpetuate
This thing we so
Devote ourselves to
Without ever asking
Why it is we go on.

Get Sad

She and I look at each other
And sometimes we laugh
We laugh at things we cannot speak of
We laugh at things we can see
We laugh at our laughing
and we laugh at the times spent together
I wonder when things will get sad?

At the Breakfast Table

Between her and I
there are grooves along
a wooden table -
little tunnels
through which maggots
carry our thoughts.
When I speak
her head falls
from the weight of it.
There is not much to say.

The Toast Lover

I am burnt toast,
my dear,
feathered lightly
with the crusty love
of dried up milk.
I can only wonder
why you love me still?