DashingAmerican

You have forgotten me. I know this from the Flaking of my fall-board The loosening of my tendons. I cannot recall the beating of my own heart. But I remember you. I can feel your bones on my bones, Heavier than your feet on my toes. Heavier than the draft you let in the open door. Lady the wood panels are warped and Every morning the dew waits on the sill For the only things that come around anymore But Lady, you are not the sunshine And you are not the moonlight. I have no more sonatas for you. So, pull the door closed So I can hear my own heart beat. ~JLE~

Opened up the door to a winter storm Never felt ice like that Never felt such empty So, pop some sunshine to warm the cool places, some rays to brighten the dark All the shadows are having foot races and all the distance in between is the finish line Strings lost in the brass section Soulful introvert stories deafened behind the white noise Might as well bee on Ganymede Speaking derelict gibberish for all the people that listen Never learned the friendship of silence Popping M&M's to expand like sponges into the empty places Never knew we were computers until we were at the mercy at someone's control And I never knew we related un

I know that I am only a two stop town in a world full of cities And that my heart is full of roadblocked one way streets, But I know how the sun feels in it's love affair with Pluto. Longing, Barely reaching the surface, but still reaching, providing no warmth but still shining. Baby, I know how the sun feels, always seeing the bright sides and never seeing the shadows. And the sun knows that it's uncontrollable, claiming burn victims as it fuels it's affections. Destroying habitable atmospheres and not being able to help it. The thing about leaving small towns is that everyone knows you left. Everyone still remembers the tim

Baby there are so many words I'd love to say, words that you'd never hear without first hearing my silence. There are things I'd love to show you; things you could already paint down on canvas but never through my eyes. There was one night when you were floating off to bliss and I was trapped in the irony that you'd painted my toes blood red. It never got lost on me that I gave you the key to the city for burning down city hall. I know you have more flight than a gander of geese and I have more foundation than the capitol city and mostly I know that I'm just the small town you couldn't wait to leave, regardless of the li

I wonder if people consider Earth a woman because she's so good at being built on, walked on, taken advantage of And I wonder if people consider Time a man because he's so good at healing, at taking, at never giving a seconds thought. I know that sometimes it rains when your rivers are already full Rushing your riverbeds away, water never means to undermine you. Water is just looking for a place to go, a current to follow, a cave to fill; But wouldn't you rather be over-saturated than dry and cracked dehydrated? Wouldn't you rather be the sustenance instead of being pawed, exfoliated by a desperate wildebeest? But we are not nature depicte

The first time I saw your shoulder, peeking like a Muslim under her hijab, I looked away, like I had never seen a shoulder before, like I had never wondered what secrets my lips would find in the pockets of your collarbone. The first time I saw your bellybutton, I knew it'd be the most of you I'd ever see. I knew you'd be chalked up as a loss, like everyone's first kiss, like every adult's young aspirations. And though I never saw the parts of you, hidden precariously under single layers, I still saw you, more guarded than your body's secrets, dipping your toes, chipped green polish, into the trust of another man. Overwhelmed, I say, "I

There I was, as imposing as a tree, shawls cantering to the floor, pages attempting flight, escorting her, like gravity escorts a chestnut, to her new life, her new clothes. Later in life I'll be asked if I feel shame for giving the world a story nobody would know. No, I only felt shame when I opened her up searching for any presence of me and, evidence lacking, left her jacket-less on the floor. I wonder if when she died, starving, she still believed people are inherently good. ~JLE~