My brother finds comfort in calculators. He $$#igns every number
a name.
He believes that they add up to certainty and he is upset with

fractions that
remain. So i examine these maps with my eyes and at best i can
trace with my

finger all the way to that town where she went an attempt to
forget the cracks
and the lines of my face.


So Jetsabel cleaned out the closets for me and she piled
the boxes in the hall. Tomorrow when she wakes she'll come take

them away
and they will never haunt me again. But it is still hard to
sleep with the moons

heavy beams. I run barefoot to the backyard, just to freeze in
my place by the
rod iron gate, too afraid and ashamed to advance.


Today i walked through the snow and found a field of headstones.
They were

in rows like the weeks on calendars where each box is a day that
you can ever
escape without pills for you poisonous sleep. These memories

leak from
these faucets that weep.
Hot tears splash against the shower floor and i stand

in the steam as if inside a dream--i can see her again by the
sink from behind the
bathroom mirror she pulls a thermometer and placed it under my

tounge.

She said "you are as pale as a sheet, you look awful my sweet

lay down and
wait for the sun." So i stayed in that bed. She brought me
water and read

each night from a volume out loud. She whispered soft poetry.
Her favorite was
Anabel Lee. And those words, like these drugs comforted me.

But the clocks
kept waving their hands and she could not understand why my
temperature

would never drop. And although she promised with tears that she
would always
be here i heard truth like the sounding sea.


I said, "My Arienette, oh how soon
you'll forget this house will never be your home. And you will

leave in the fall
when the trees become graves and their color lie dead in the
grass." Gold and

green torture me like the lies i believe too easily.

Oh my Jetsabel, look at this hell

that i have made. If you want maybe drop by sometime put some
flowers on my
grave. So that i will look beautiful in my silent sepulchur.

Yeah thats fine throw
those dresses away i don't want anything of hers. For the moon
never shines

and the stars never rise without bringing me dreams. Haunted by
the ghosts of
those bright eyes.