#12

Elizabeth
I wish
I wasn't so alone.
I wish
he'd come back.
I wish
things were the way they used to be.
I wish
that Thunderbird would just disappear and leave my husband.
I wish
it was high school
or before the war
or any time but now.
But wishes aren't worth anything,
not even the horses or tears that they turn into.

(wish)

#11

Wish
Me
I wish I wish I wish I wish that I
could take the time to wash my mind so clean
that never thoughts of you nor I would dream
to scar the shining surface and fly by.

I wish I wish I wish that I might run
away from memories of happy days
of love and light. These times, they have not stayed
beyond the tests of men that now are done.

I wish I wish that I was not alone
but it seems to be that none the less I am.
I wish that I could find a single friend,
but even then I would not share my moans.

I wish that I could release and unbend,
and tell the world I'm mad, tumbled end on end.

#10

Elizabeth
What helps?
Filling my mind with distractions,
idle chores, trying
to just stop thinking.
TV, laundry, bourbon -
clouds. Daydreams.
Memories. I try to escape the now
with thoughts of the better past
but there's no way away,
no true escape.
I'm pulled back to now
by my empty bed.

(tools)

#9

tools, me

Cheap cigarettes and alcohol are mine,
the ways I cope during the hardest days.
At night so that I can cut out the lines
in-drawn by daily lies, I try to daze
myself with television screens and dreams
of times when I will finally give in,
when in release I'll scream my loudest screams
before the darkness soothes away my sins.
In lies and drugs and wine I try to find
something to help me cope – to cope with loss,
the loss of what and who steadied my mind.
For now I drift. In sleep I turn and toss.
There is no help that stays beyond an hour
but love, and that I tormented til sour.

#8

Elizabeth
What brings me pain should really
give me joy;
what I fear will tear us apart
is meant to bring us close.
I can't sleep or dream;
memories are torment
instead of shelter.
Why is it that in these times
the best of news is really worst?
Even when he's here
I'm all alone,
every inch of me in crying.

(pain)

#7

pain, me

It's hard to stay, to try and be your friend.
You tell me truths and tales to make me cry
and all I do is hide my tears and sighs.
To be true friends I must forget our end.
Misguidedly I run towards this pain
because I hope to learn and grow instead
of hoping foolish hopes, filling my head
with new ideas, not our former joyous fame.
I don't know if I love you any more,
but it's true that you still make me cry
much quicker than other boys I've let fly.
So pain helps me slam shut our closing door.
For though I hurt we've gone our separate ways,
and better that than fight for all our days.

#6

Love

I had a dream about you, you had died.
I woke up screaming, could not breathe, and I
was forced to slip away from my warm bed
to check if you still breathed. You did. I cried.
That's love, for me, the pain that goes with joy,
the fright that leaps into my heart at signs
of age, ill health, disease. No more a boy,
coy Time has greyed your hair and drawn fine lines.
I told you how I dreamed but you would not
give comfort to me with old lies. Instead
you said full face, “I'll die, sweetheart, I've got
only so much life.” I went back to bed.
But there's only so long for me to hide,
and I couldn't love you more if you had lied.

#3

Competition, Elizabeth

Elizabeth:
I have to compete
with blonde hippy road sluts
the temptation of liquor
the shining steel of guns
and fights, violence.
I have to fight
against memories of war,
grotesqueries.
How can the cast off wife
shine through the dark visions
of smoke and fire,
murder and slaughter?

#2

Competition: Me
I hate you. Why?
Because you always seem
to push, to do more than you should.
I know I'm better -
I could trounce you in a heartbeat.
I know you aren't happy,
and I am.
But still all the empty things you do,
I want to do better,
more completely,
just to show you.

2009 #1

Anger

Could you just shut your mouth for one second?
You ramble on about yourself and I
pretend to care about your childish things,
your stupid hates and immature desires.
But should I try to speak a word – you glare,
you criticize. For after all there's little
more important than you and your failures.
Ay, that's the rub, for even when you run
on and on it's never good news, always
about how you can never ever min.
Shut up! Grow up! And leave me be!