Train Station Gitanes

Winter comes to quiet the crying Fall
turning evergreens into static brides
exposing the naked twigs
on the desert of blue


Cold crawls on my bed
like the dwelling phantom
of a wondering cadaver
as I bite the edge of the blanket
wondering where you are
and where I am
and write myself to sleep


Morning comes to chase the night away
swift sunbeams, fiery katana swords
slice its essence, as it bleeds in yellow and orange
and you're not here


Blood, coffee, rushing to my head (I can't tell them apart anymore)
hot water on my face
the decrepit piano of my body
stumbles from the bedroom to the bathroom
from the kitchen to hell


Maybe I'm just a picture in the photo album
corner of your scrapbook
napkin with a phone number tattoo


maybe you think I'll be waiting
like mortals wait for death
I know you think I missed my train
and I did
but I belong to somebody else

Autopsy

I can't
I'm out
no matter how hard I try
it's gone.
I stand naked before you
unzip my chest completely open
like the french doors of an autopsy room
my heart, in a platter, has always been yours.

Like a beggar begs for handouts
my soul, scarred and ran over
like a vegetable in life support
resembling a wrinkled pear.

Come, join me
let's walk on the train tracks
holding hands, on the way to the morgue
I want to see if you can recognize me
by something other than my lifelong scars.
Come, even if just out of pity
let's hitch a ride in the carpool hearse
I have a ditch to catch.

Like a kid with empty pockets
like a drunk without a bottle
the musical box is broken
and the tears have already dried up.
Look, at the procession in the distance
waving good bye.