In this realm of Maybe, the barbed current

of your wise, unspeakable feelings tied

double knots which later sometimes weren’t; 

a list of shames constructed with pre-war

sentiment, but you could hear a pin drop

if you pressed pretenses against the door 

to self esteem. Keep digging or propose

a new hole; start the day or a new dream

dishonest in the honesty you chose. 

Salt and smoke; dogged lines on the newly

middle aged evoke red fog. What succeeds

the final last straw? More straws, skating

free as fat teardrops, generating

the self-continuance of awful deeds?

At last, Grandpa’s least favorite; at best

my best friend’s eighth best friend. Now myriad 

impossible ways to be loved suggest

like ways to be impossibly hated.

I can’t be replaced if I don’t admit

you’re gone. Somewhere between am too concerned

and don't give a shit, this dogeared friendship

ran away from home (and never returned).

We hadn't spoken in so long, I think 

we stopped knowing each other. It reminds

me of the favorite shirt that I don't 

wear anymore, to keep a teensy tear

a teensy tear, and of Grandpa’s cufflinks,

I was afraid I'd lose so hid somewhere.

Let me say aloud what's best left unsaid. 

One sentence to destroy you (and leave me

better off dead...) else prove myself insane. 

Or not. Toughness doesn’t come from taking 

one's coffee black. No, that raised rash begins

within, surfaces in stock reaction

like the rainy day wiggle-worm. Beastly,

yes, but beasts wrong sinlessly. The green glass 

battle, just a dream; arguing how tall

is a leprechaun with a leprechaun, 

and waking to new blood stains. Vagary’s 

weak currency and only a “did you

get my text?” text bought me time to contain

the outburst – I’M SORRY I YELLED AT YOU!!!