skeletons of trees

ladies and gentleman, ghosts and children of the state,
i am here because i could never get the hang of Time.
this hour, for example, would be like all others
were it not for the rain falling through the roof.
i'd better not be too explicit. my night is careless
with itself, troublesome as a woman wearing no bra
in winter. i believe everything is a metaphor for sex.
lovemaking mimics the act of departure, moonlight
drips from the leaves. you can spend your whole life
doing no more than preparing for life and thinking,
"is this all there is?"

oakland and terrance hayes go together for me. he came in the mail today, "lighthead." his house, and my parent's house, share an alley together. his family trick-or-treats at my house. i see him and his wife and kids. he came to my class at duquesne, freshman year of college, and read his poems. he told me i ask good questions. he signed my book. i was probably the only person in the class who was even awake. i woke up on the morning of the 31st and decided to reconcile 2010 by a nice walk in schenley park. it was warm - like 60 degrees. i remembered that winter does pass. i took pictures of trees. i missed all of you. i missed being in middle school and high school and skipping class and wandering around oakland until i could return home. i longed for my 40-something year old self who could get an mfa at pitt and live near schenley park, and have a big window and birds in the backyard. i thought terrance hayes could be my friend that way.

i made the mistake of reading old posts from when i was living in arizona. this was a mistake because of the obvious. my words now are mush. my brain is mush. i was inspired, then. i am not, now. i was proud then. i am not, now. i can see you, skyscrapers, from my window. and tonight, i hate you. i can imagine you extending around the city like a wall. i am stuck.