Number 6

these are my last words

i look for you every step of the way home

i try to walk exactly where i walked that night

leaving room for you 

i step around the man who

five years ago was keeping warm in this stairwell

i remember what i was writing

i remember what i was wearing

i remember all the people on the train

in both directions

i  just don't remember you

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six birds fly the form of freckles near your mouth i knew that you were the face of god that the sky was there for reading


god told me to get a haircut i was looking for my haiku about winter i dream i am already at work between the cars of the train a single flake of snow i have to write some of this shit down


i want to taste the female flavoring in your skin in your mouth to begin writing place the tip of the pencil at the top left corner of the page the last time i got my hair cut my mother was alive