I am a ghost 
in my own life 
or perhaps a toothpick 
that’s been whittled down 
to this nub by 
life’s always sharp blade 
so many times I’ve 
repeated the starting over 
that I feel as though 
I’ve never been anywhere 
as though each time 
the juice of me 
has been squeezed and 
wrung out leaving me 
with only this husk
or this pulp with 
which to roam hauntingly 
to memories I’ve been 

If I were just 
one day later I’d 
know that today would 
be okay and yesterday 
would be that way
too but I’m not 
one day later just 
too early for tomorrow 

The city hides behind 
brown sheer curtains like 
the eyes of a 
mistress focused on me 
from behind her agenda 
thinking I know wondering 
I think when she 
might make her escape 
the city night and 
oh the love she 
promises will both disappear 

Some days you know 
there’s nothing to say 
I’m just a beach
waiting for swimmers and 
children with pails nothing 
more than a place
with snails little me
little more I think 
I’ll be quiet now 

If there’s one 
thing I know 
is I don’t 
don’t want or
need to have 
because I’ve already 
me I’d rather 
sit here quietly 
and remember rather 
than make new
for new to
me is noise