in 2014 i forgot

about conceptualization until

a hallmark eyesore

they told me they’d just get me

a potato

(that’s not a metaphor, for the record,

i was offered a spud)

and we haven’t talked since

they groped me drunk in a club

and i said stop

and i got too sad to say no

to a friend i have

never written a poem for


so i told them in the snow i’d like to

take them to dinner

and never did

and heard from amanda i’m a tease.

but back on topic

i think the year before

was the year

she (the usual she)

asked me what i’d like to do to her

and i said i’m just a furnace

all i do is eat coal

i heat up houses

don’t touch me

and she showed up with flowers

and i always say i wouldn’t change a thing

but maybe that day

so where can i take you now

that i read you so many grave markers?

i can string up lights

and pretend i’m not the kind of person

whose enjoyment is bitter

knowing i’m losing you before we began

i get so sick of myself

syrup of ipecac eyes

because one day i’ll have been dead a hundred years

and no one will think of my favorite flower

and this might just be a rock, not a planet

so what’s the worth of the weight of my hand

in human years?

what about the bad days?

i could break solitude

like a geode i suppose

for the way you

smirk and look at your coffee cup

and say it’s sweet the way

i circle the same block three times

just to walk you back

from walking me home.

i am open to being surprised.

i didn’t know how this poem would end

when i started.

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