Untitled

How?
Across the bed the shape of
The shoulders are never yours.
Never your little body,
But only a her or another her.
There is nothing worth dreaming here.
The bed is a burning ghetto. Phosphorus.

All day?
All day I make your body rise to me.
You take your place in imaginary chairs.
I hear nothing but your voice in the radio sounds.
Every drink is your slow tears.
I think only of my fingers on your skin.

The humor?
The humor is you never wanted me.
I never you. The unknown alls.
Now I hear you think.
Your thoughts cloud me.
I at my work while you in yours.

If you left?
If you left the moments collapse.
The matters unmatter.
There is no shelter for what I think.
If you leave, and leave,
Then you were never here.
I would take the life I’ve lived
And bury it within
The wildflowers of the planes.

Secret Topeka

The good many hours I've put in with
My married woman (unmarried to me)
Spent not talking about her husband in Topeka -
Is that a Kansas?
It was because we could openly lie.
I to her, her to me


Making great plans and thrashing in a
Small bed
But only when she could.
Between meals. Between airlines.


I once drove two hours to meet her
For forty-five minutes then
Came home to dinner. HA!


I pretended to love her name.
She pretended to love my talking.
Our feet touched in restaurants.
I told her I could play piano (I can't).
She told me about architecture
And I still don't care.
She would only peal a hotel orange
With a spoon.


In May her husband will name my daughter -
Who she will say comes two weeks early.


I am imagining a way of flying to a secret Topeka.
The rest of my life spent learning about the schools,
The neighborhoods, the events. A lifetime
Learning about things, and seeing things that
I can never have.