I've thought a lot about your shoes lately.
While listening to the radio this morning
I watched the mailman flick a cigarette out
of his hands; it's final destination a birdfeeder.
I imagined the faces of nearly a dozen different
people who have taken things from you they had no
right stealing.
Last night laying in bed I had a dream that
we were in the darkest corner of my favorite
abandoned house.
If I could strangle the past and choke out
every bit of posession they entangled you with
and kill the lies that buried any trust you have
in a girl I would do it mercilessly.
It's like being naked in front of you.
Everytime I have told someone of the
loss, the long depressions, the game of death,
the institutions, of being cheated,
and the sounds in my head that don't stop when I'm out in public,
they have flinched. They have ran. They have laughed.
You took off your shoes.