I get up from 
my sleeping spot 
eleven forty five and 

(someodd seconds)

listening to the chimes of my 
clock (Louder than clang-CLANG-ding-DING,
       all throughout the house, not a creature
       is stirring, yet it all moves slowly,
       in calm water mist fashion, dancing 
       for angels awake in the eve),

and I settle
where I can still see
my sleeping spot
aware of its EXISTence - 
if it will call me again, I do not know;
I look away from it,
look here, 
to where I write
looking for answers 
                    in my head to
all those filthy
questions I made up since four till three
o clock pee em, 
when I 
finished Kesey's first and thought about
God (not that I have 
     never thought
     about He before, but Him is something
     more than a Mystery, a 
     Fisher of men,
     Light of the world, 
     Lamb and 
     Shepherd, but never a 
     Friend, nonono, ask your Sunday school teacher sometime, 
                                            she'll explain He).

I am writing this
for myself, no one will read this,
not even you, your eyes are lying.
I solve my problems 
there, anywhere I can, mostly here.

      So why did she push away? Did she think that maybe it was alright
 to give up and move on to bigger (never better) things? 
Did she want me to shower her with 
affection, or grace her with  
respect? I gave her some now and then
                                      to show I was still alive and not 
some is 
for those who want

I forget that she laughed that night, the one where she cast off. 
I forget I told her a joke, something inane and trite, and made her laugh.
I forget those times when she was sobbing and incoherent. 
I forget, but I will remember when I am writing this for myself.

  mine to hold, mine to keep,
  mine to drop, mine to play with
  as cat with string and 
     man with emotion;
  The toys of the dead.

Yes, Tonight I can write the saddest lines, tonight, but never again.
Her eyes were finite, her body orange, stagnant, earthy, wintery, punished.

I am listening to the 
   (clang-CLANG) again
it has been fifteen minutes
and still I write
 for my questions.

Sand and bottles and leaves of grass
and tops spinning on kaleidoscope glass
spread out on sandpaper, smooth pennies
touching the corners, holding it down.
one flew east
one flew west
one remains behind to watch the 
            (you can sneak over to my house one day
             just you and me, we'll enjoy each other's company,
             no one will know, no such thing as guilt)
flock fade away without him, just to see what staying up
for the winter is really like 

  (lonely, he'll discover,
   but quiet,
   which is what he really wanted after all, although
   he didn't mind her noise as much as he let on, 
   but then ...
   so did everyone else because they wrote
   "Loved and Lonely"
   on the Monument in the fields
   of green 
   that tell the real story about how the world began,
   when Him got bored and wrote a crazy
   hip happenin 
   love story for the songbirds 
   to sit in the green and cry about,
   because sure nobody's perfect ...)

I can't          SEE          ............ what's wrong with me? is it fate?
 is it those few seconds after I said goodbye and before I hung up the phone?
 where you could still hear her throwing tears in the air, whispering

I (expletive) you

 I (expletive) you

 that **** word you hear 
exactly once 
in your lifetime 
           (before it slits its wrists and 
            bleeds to death next to the)

of a receiver not properly hung up.

So I tried to call back, busy signal, busy signal, please try again later. 
Later? What if there is no later? What if she's dead? I'm so worried, 
Oh sweet McMurphy, 
oh sweet Chief Bromden, let me through, please let me through, 

what if ....?

( What if God could how and when
   his way through an e.e. cummings piece de
   resistance and find himself all over again?
   Can God be born again? Can Him who art in heaven, hallowed be His name,
   kingdom come, NO TRESPASSING.)

I close my eyes; I will not
shall not

Glance over at
my sleeping spot   (the hollow navy blue mattress where
                    I close my eyes and stay awake till morning
                    and tell my mother, no way, not me, I slept
                    fine, what're you talking about?)

without hearing busy signals and the ding-DING

because it was midnight, as I recall,
when I said goodbye
and I waited

 (someodd seconds)

to hang up on myself.