You can say what you want about the folks in this town, he intoned, but there’s nothing more intriguing in the world than the secrets they know,

and they don’t go to sleep until the last person has warned them,

and I don’t care how paranoid you get about carbon monoxide,
you cannot leave your window open at four in the morning, not in the city or anywhere else

But with the way I felt sick to my stomach, the headache coming on, isn’t it reasonable
I mean isn’t it reasonable to worry about all of these things? And as for intrigue,
I don’t think I’m curious at all.  My life has been far too full of excitement,

so, actually, I just want quiet.

What’s the good in that?

Who knows.  What’s the good in noise? I never figured it out.  So, I thought, why not

quiet.  But then he looked very serious, very grim, when,
with indeterminable intent,
he closed and latched the thing

And what could you possibly have found so exciting? What nonsense did you ask for? as if it ought to be nonsense,
and secrets ought to be known, and sleep to be had.  So instead, here’s my question for you:

If you could, would you put all your fears
worries, insecurities, heartaches
nightmares, illnesses
sins and tribulations
into a box under the bed

never ever to live again? could you speak of it all then?

She spoke
and I gave my best reply,
focused more on the what-now than the why

but the last thing I predicted was your absence
from the conclusion you fell on
your knees, bruised and scraped
your knuckles on the ground

What would God think of me now?
just another follower to batten down,
another comma to turn around

You want to think you understand me
, but you don’t, you don’t, you don’t
take off your shoes when you come in the house

I was talking to your roommate
who said you’re not acting like yourself,
and now I know I never knew you

; but still, I wanted to,
so I wish I never opened my mouth
because whenever I do
terrible truths come out
impossible hopes can sprout
and bloom into delible dreams,
acidic and sweet like mangosteens

You like to think you don’t like me,
and you don’t,
you don’t, you don’t
answer my texts until you need something

but I’m happy here without you
counting magnolias as they fall

and when I think about you
I don’t think about you at all