Hey, You

Hey, you,
enough of this self absorbed anonymity
I want to make a poem today
I want to tell you
your long arms wrapped around me
artery tie-off style, it
would be the sun, this winter-desert is too withdrawn
and I thought you were in my palm
tree, fig of passive weather

Hey, you,
I want to say that it would've been better
if you just held me in your arms
than doing everything else instead
and then feeling you pull the needle away
towards the wall, to an air mattress on the floor

Hey, you,
I want to say it would be nice to hike that peak
like we did a year ago, and find a secret cave
abandoned in the dope-faced nod,
when you admired me, what is different today?

I am flat for poetry, my dreams fall onto the floor
I canceled Tecopa Hot Springs, meeting with desert
conservation people I identify with and adore
because I'm strung out on a dry country
called you

the track marks run parallel
to your cousin's death by train
I didn't mean to cross without looking
but there I found myself,
looking the wrong way
while scissoring two opposing tracks
downtown where the rails get tangled
not knowing if left or right
was the right way to go
and so I'm flat

Hey, You,
this isn't much of a poem
and you're a composite of what I hoped was love
melt the spoon, mix the junk with blood
with someone who I thought I knew
returning to the desert
by boxcar is not the way to go
never mind the pulse of winter fruit

Hey, You - what about me
the germinating seed you put into the ground
these small plants, they want to get high
while they burst into flowers
Hey, You, it's just turning to spring
Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here