you look like hell

i want to show you

i want to show

you all these 

places, all these

things. 

i want to 

show you the lakes

and the streams, 

the firs and 

the geese,

waddling around 

all confused.

i want to 

show you the 

streets i used

to watch over 

and walk as a 

boy with my brothers

and two 

closest friends.

i want to show 

you the room where 

i sometimes sleep or

stay up til all

hours

of the night reading

or writing my

mind away to

a typewriter, wordless 

book or computer

screen.

i want to show you everything.

highway

sixty-one and the place

where i crashed the

three-wheeler when i was 

twelve and the nook

where my grandmother's shop

once was and the cliffs by the 

river

in saint croix and the colors 

and the leaves and the 

people

and my home. 

now i write on 

the back of a yellow 

sheet of notebook paper, a makeshift

schedule for the

warehouse job

i just got 

where i'll be

working ridiculous

hour

and

becoming exhausted

as the days drag on.

i want to show 

you all these things.

please, let me.