Let it

When you came in the phone was ringing but I would not answer.

I could be sprawled in a deep curve of the corner couch.  Smiling blue lightning beneath a polar ice cap.  Gray as a blanket on the threshold of tatters, and just as directionless.  I'm fine.  No one can reach me, but you may try.

Every day offers fresh evidence of night.  Fires and ashes, water reflecting water, your sticky hair on my caked and bloody pillow and our eyes rolling from their sleeping lids like pearls unhinged.

Ring Ring Ring
Where am I?  You do not know.  I could be anywhere.  Anyway, away.  I don't care.  Taking an elusive plunge into the elbow of the onramp, where forever roaring freeways tow that dry dismal echo of whispers into the shadows of naught. 

You know if you could find me I would let you in.  Show you something different.  The fornications of scream.  The vanity of light.  Messages scrawled in the drinking fountain.  Insensed voice inside my head that belong to you. 

I would tell you about the stars if you could find me.  My language is your desire as the phone gives up.  You call out my name higher, happy hearing the shattered cold glass of your own voice decompressed into vacant breaths of absence.  My answer gives up.  Subtle words, tender and tortured and lost on you before they were never spoken.

When you went out from there you were never here.  I gave no answer you could ever hear.

I feel fine beyond reach.  Fucking alone on a sleeping berth halfway to Mars.  Drawing the abstract anatomy of terror and fright through ghost pads filled with blank windows stained and sundrenched bleachy white.  And anyway there are no stars out tonight.