For Jerrod Nathan Leopold

It is difficult to know what I've done right, it seems
Everything is reflected from you in negation, or forgetfulness--

It's easy to remember though: that

My car was wonderful to me, and I heard you say that it was the perfect
Car for me: not too fancy, impeccable in it's non-notoriety
And we drove it everywhere; each night
I'd drive down that horrid 84, and beg for the time to
Get me to you. Sprawling within the northwest and young
Trees, unlike those I'm used to. Now

Downtown is just nothing. Boys yelp like impotent dogs, and I keep
My feet looking at the cracks, don't break your mothers back
And I never cry, no I'd never cry again
Over you. You weren't one to hand me a ring under a willow
By a lake in Wellesley, nor were you
One to take my stupid shaking hand (I never shook for you)
By that maritime museum in San Francisco, you never
Measured my waist with pleasure

You never spoke of my dresses, my poetry was only a diversion
For greetings at the bar, (and my heart pumped warm blood
All over the table, in essence I guess, though
You wouldn't have noticed).

I suppose that you are too far away from self-observance, or the
necessary
Acceptance of folly.
But I am not.

I am still with you
You driving my car, on the way to an ocean
I've never seen, and myself crying
Cause there's no word I can get from you.

Your heart rocked shut like a mollusk. And all those shells--
They're still in my car

Spruce me up like a Christmas tree and I'll give
You another gift--
All it takes is love, doesn't it?

Out of the ash I rise, with green eyes
And stomp men like flies.

(that was a joke, that last line)