getting older

growing less poetic,
and more professional

the places we leave the ones we love

i don't want to play the part
of your beaten dog
tied to the neighbors fence,
your puppet on display
under a stack of plates
at your weekend garage sale

haiku

still finding your hair
between the wooden floorboards
we once walked naked

to tell you the truth, she said,
no matter what, it changed me,
and maybe its for the better and maybe its for the worse,
but i've got pictures of horses
and i don't look at the bridge that way anymore,
haven't since i moved in