Your words cut through the air
And disrupt the silence
Of brown tangled hair

And paper plane pilots,
So I wrote you a note
On the back of your eyelids

Of stereotypes that would lead you to violence and sin.

Now you're tangled up in

My memory matrix
(Of chain smoke, tattoos,
A parking lot silence,

A glossy eyed touch,
Hints of the tragic,
And poems read aloud that you made so emphatic again).


And you know that I won't just let it go.


There's rain on your window, but nobody's home.