There Are No People Here

you can be the caution of my wind

watch me strip to the bone

feast upon others and each other

watch you stride right past me

at times

waiting for me or another

sometimes

until I come

rising to meet you

in between our forgetting dream

embracing each new year

together only occasionally

we are within each other

very rarely

between touches of some other heart to heart

embracing

familiar strings without me

entangling with the ancient things

fighting with contemporary things

visciously, rapidly, caustically

we always pull apart eventually 

a new search for good plunder, and others

searching other hearts of humans

for other human things to put inside

then coming away together again

for some kind embrace

that can't quite live up to us

then tearing and

ripping out more heart strings

bleeding out different things

stripped again to the bone

but like ping pong

coming back

to go away

forthright and forward

in betweeen forgotten dreams

the caution of our wind

i will call it home

it exists, somewhere

as an essence

of a hope

but there are no living people there

it is a graveyard

Author's Note