You Tore Up The Title Of This Letter (I Can't Remember Who This Is For)

This is the first time I've read your name.

I never knew that anonymity was so important to you.

I'm proud of all the things you carry.

The knives you sharpen, the spears you clip,

The cold, fat guns that rest on all your ships.

There's a whole navy waving from your waters.

Should I be proud of the beaches you undress,

Or the peasants spread out under the sun,

That you expect to harbor and possess?

Oh, so that's your brilliant definition of fun.

I expected so much more from you, sinner.

You expected company on Thanksgiving dinner.

My grief seems scentless. In fact it's gone away—

Until some later burdening of the clouds with light.

All grief's fled and wept, whipped into a calmer night,

Painting tomorrow a puddle of primary color.

You expect hidden driveways. You expect to be able

To congregate outside my temples. You ask for tin

And later expect bronze, gold, pearl. You strip

The armor right off of everyone you love.

Are you asking for a more perfect view of everything

I do? You have never inspected me closer, slime.

I'm an idiot a very good one it's true,

Go write it into your holy, elusive, key-worn scrolls.

Come on over, I'm naked. It's quite the view.

And while you think of only the words

That soon rhyme with that perfect, expert "you",

You ought to learn to expect false promises.

My shoulder is kept clean, no tears, only little dirt.

I am stuck underground again, where worms glow.

There are no forests big enough to hide you in.

No pillow white enough for you. No doves, either.

I am going places you'll never visit. You won't be there.

And if you still wish to follow, with your moth-worn lips

Fluttering behind a purple moon, then I can't

Keep you anywhere for too long, can I. You vanish.

Sometime soon, but I can't guarantee at what hour.

Which phase of that moon. For now it's us,

You the enemy. You're out there in the cornfields.

I have a strange, friendly road to take.

You lead me straight to the core of every mistake.

Do you hear me? We're through. So give me

Your arrow. Hand over your silver bow.

I have so much less breaking for you to do.