My brother finds comfort in calculators.  He assigns 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.