By James Diaz

i think of you as one precious book removed
from a shelf and misplaced
for years you are the thing that cannot be found
I root around in all of my dark corners for you
I am a bringer of what if’s
to understand suffering, one must –
there’s no way around the obvious
hurting-howling
bits and pieces
weeds twine round our rusted poles
we are roadside curios
we are who knows what now
come dawn’s little prick of half light
and every poetic word you meant to say
lodged in your throat
where she pulled them clear with her fingers
and you laughed but behind laughter there was pain
so much pain
I think of you now as star light on pavement
behind abandoned motels, broken soda machines
and graffitied pay phones
little darlin’ beckoning toward the darkest corner of the stairs
and I touch your hair
and you laugh but behind your laughter…

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