curled over the wall, slick
with paint, lines surgical
and precise, tracking epithets
of deeds and at least one life.

your sighs were waiting
in counter-top novels, point
dead riverbeds where we
followed footfalls, each
an end, nothing but gratitude
overflowing and finding
a bed covered in books.

words are theories in forgettable lands
you drew pictures all about memory


i heard you lived,
unfurled, and lied.

i didn’t. hum yellowed
paper, tapping fingertips
to thumb, counting
the moments where I
can’t think  – reverse,
rewrite, revise, expand
the way small white sane
maker packets look on
bathroom tiles, a thousand
furious threads failing
at being thought touch
worlds and names and places
better left remembered,
call halls of numbness
homes there’s all dust and-

i sketched roots to problems
we never knew we had