we could crush our deaths together
and say it was only the weather that
made us act like that.
you could bruise yourself; once for me
and once for every memory i couldn't
keep and this poem wasn't supposed to
be about you.
but i throw the words out and they gather
themselves to form something like you.
but never you, no. never. still, it's not
complete. these run-on sentences never
catch up with you the way i wish they
would. and the creature they describe,
the creature they tend to glorify by taking
the time to make themselves handy, will
never be you. but something like you. i wish
you could see. i wish you could read
the way they make you out to be.
i don't think you would even know him.

08/29/2003

Author's Note: ehhh..needs work, but don't they all.

Posted on 08/29/2003
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