(2013)
I hope this is postmarked before my death certificate is dat… but you’ll know why if it is or if it isn’t If you get this in time
The pen must be mightier than the sword For there is nothing that will spill your guts faster than a bit of ink that says
Loving you was never sweet like the taste of vanilla the way I thought it was supposed to be It was more like
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
I say hello and you say nothing You may hear me you may even think of a response
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can
I thought I could drink you away but I had to stop being so drunk on you first
I feel empty unceasingly until you come along and fill my heart to bursting
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
