Cast me away.

I sorted my neurosis
on the shelves of my wall.
I counted the number of colors
before writing
each
of their names down.

Toenail Purple,
Bread-Mold Blue,
Periwinkle Afterbirth,
and Mosquitos Squashed in School Glue.

I inhaled the silence
and held my breath
longer than I ever did
in swimming
or in sex.

My cup is decanting
ginger green tea.
I count every second
before I may sip
the nectar of leaves.

The phone has not rung.
You have not called.
She has not either.
And that is what feels so wrong.

I will not be the uncle
of holidays.
I will not be the brother
of birthdays.
If I am not worthy
of an ordinary day,
then cast me away.

Cast me away.

written on 12/27/2009 by: Matt Kane