poem on Nov. 24. 2005

days in between
where you don't know
where to put yourself.

past sleeping
but not yet,
quite awake

we are sifting
through this feeling.
of luck,
changing hands.

The anonymity of touch
through the canals
of the internet.

drowning faces
floating through the river.

The decapitated limbs
that float through your body.

still trying to find a home
despite the lack of rememberance
of ever being,

muscle recall.

we try to hang on to these old faces,
names scrawled on graffiti walls,
sunlight softly hitting the top
of an old building,
as it's about to go down,

later to be commemorated
on a missing persons' list.

phonetic love charged
through your telephone bills,
you try to scratch away,
with your small fingers.