How Comfort Kills

This fall feels right
Because death
Makes the ground cold,
And landing in spring
Leaves too much to chance.
It is the soft earth
That flees the brittle skin,
But bares itself
So little it seems
To stretch and strain
Over empty organs.

It must have been
So easy
To leave.

You Invented Jazz

I'd hike up your skirt
If you wore one

(you never do)

But boredom is
That youngest stepchild
In the corner
Speaking to the press corps,
Answering questions
With questions.

Will I tell them
I've never had another?
He wonders,
And then forgets
If he said it out loud.

Just tell them that
You invented Jazz,
And cover those wounds
With fake ambition.

Stone Between Us

Friend it's not too late
To tie those wrists
To the pillars,
To the pillars that hold us
And shake the halls
For our plagues
Like walls have become
Stone between us.
My strength is letter thin
And words so spare
Will never be spoken if written,
If written so soft
The ink will fade
Through for us.
Then let the archer
Lay his bow as a marker
To draw the arch
As a line in the earth.