I sat down this morning and spread the fragments across my desk. Next to each I lay the carefully constructed explanations. Piece after piece connects and tells a private story of why. The crowd begins to knock and then pound and then beg to come in. A slight change in breath as I continue despite their demands. Careful fingers pick up, replace, figure, fit, squeeze, release, try again.
As the clock grows dizzy the picture finds itself. The last piece fits in and the door crashes open. They laugh and wonder and quiz my time. I smile and reply, "Good things come to those that wait"...

The calender shifts again, a little to the right.
I got another idea of desire as he plucks at me while I sleep.
Pulling this way, I can't help but feel stretched and aching.
I can see the fading of what I painted and that lends to tears.
Dark then light and I want that fresh shake to keep me up.
Don't tell me how it should be. I have a good sense of it.
It keeps me up at night as it fights to be released.
Fierce and lovely, strong and uncompromising; as it should be.
Demands ignored, nicety overlooked for a picture too big for this screen.
You want, you rely, you think you know.
You can't have what isn't for giving.
You can't take what slips through the seconds of the day,
seeking the place to land and plant and become what waits
impatiently below the surface.

Someone said something, while I was away and sleeping.
Words that disappeared in the moment, forgotten faded.
But the great weight swayed across to me in the sea of open mouths.
My eyes snap up and demand editing of their versions twisted by malcontent;
their versions that stuck between the past and my dis-ease.
Face me and see what you missed.

Tight squeeze of hours between you and I.
I run on a schedule sideways and parallel to you as you rush to keep up.
I pace my short steps and your long strides make me sweat.
The long run you make in and out of lines and good intent
leaves me up side down and wondering;
what you hope to take from me,
what you give willingly,
why now when tomorrow is so obliging.
An itching nerve makes me timid and awake,
both eyes open and examining every minute you take
and leave;
every word,
inside every sentence,
beside me,
in the dark of newness.

Struggling to stay awake as it all rushes past in a mad dash for extinction.
I can't believe I swam through for so long and you just watched.
A sly smile on your face, you feel a tender agony so many miles away.
The water turns cold and my blood wakes from its slumber.
On the shore, as I drift, you have a look of regret.
I watch it pass, gaining distance, until you have no power over me.
The smaller you get, the bigger I become, grabbing my life by the throat.
The closer I got to you the further I felt from me.
Let it ride away from you. Let me be.
You can't hurt me anymore.
You can't care because you never really did.

You weren't there when I called. It just rang and rang so I figured you were out delegating or relegating. I hung up quickly and didn't leave a message, for I was much to busy to leave one. Or I wanted you to think so anyway. I wonder if it worked or if you just got annoyed at the mysterious call. Was thinking about you in a kind way, the way you think about people that don't think about you except when they have been drinking or when obligated. Your name is still in my phone and when I pass it as I scroll through the characters in my life it scrapes across my memory. If there were a score to be kept of those that call and those that don't, you are far behind. But I don't anger or sadden at this. I realize your life unfolds quickly and without pause. I figure you think of me in quiet moments when no one is around, when the sun is sleeping and you really should be too. So many things get in the way and decide our fate. So many things, small things decide something, this massive thing called our existence. I could get upset and kick and scream. I could shrug my shoulders and move on without holding a memory of it. I prefer to call and not leave a message.

You can't leave until you nail something down. It's a requirement, a forceful declaration. Don't restrain; tightly clenched to regiment and timidty. This is yours, slipping away as your breath.

pulling from you in a mad race to consumation, with you or otherwise.

Give me those quick words to document and release into the wild.
Don't keep them there away from everyone. I want them. I will make them mine, with a little bit of you. We can share them, between lips and legs and faces of delicate reminisce. Locking in, sharing eyes we see what one cannot. Give me your story and I will give you everything else.

Single slip away and I can't see you anymore. Its like keeping a smoke ring, watching it twine between lingering fingers and then fade. Peer around the corner and see if it's really gone. Soft face in the crowd of forgotten, but that strong smell of memory sticks aside. Responsible and steadfast in your escape from everyday, I laugh at your effort. I have let you go with the smoke that leaves my lips. Quick ingestion for a moment of painful pleasure. You are no permanent, no enduring residue. Only a moment among many that cant be sifted and returned for a reward. Only a bland taste that blends with life's fragility.

Why don't you step in, full forward?

3/30/08
It was swept away in a moment's neglect. Past words, link to a time I can no longer touch and breath and feel. All funneled out of the drain of reality to some soft shore to live out their days away from me.

4/6/08
He's not right. Imperfectly flawed as if to taunt my romantic ideal.

4/10/08
Waiting for me to begin that rush downhill. Hands free, wind stroking everything of me, blowing past regret, soft misgivings float off; the sky's prisoner.
He's chasing, distance increases, he can't keep up and his soft promises are the only thing the wind carries to me.

Moments swing by unannounced and lighten my load.
A subtle song plays in reverse to play to the end.
shift this way, to my side.
We can share some daylight, a bit of night.
Breath you in next to me.
I can't tell where I end and you begin;
warm mix of skin, blood and affection.
The jealous sun overtakes the night
and I pry away
Sensibly choosing sweet anticipation.