My brother finds comfort in calculators. He assigns every number a name.
  He believes that they add up to certainty and he is upset with fractions that
  remain. So i examine these maps with my eyes and at best i can trace with my
  finger all the way to that town where she went an attempt to forget the cracks
  and the lines of my face.
    So Jetsabel cleaned out the closets for me and she piled
  the boxes in the hall. Tomorrow when she wakes she'll come take them away
  and they will never haunt me again. But it is still hard to sleep with the moons
  heavy beams. I run barefoot to the backyard, just to freeze in my place by the
  rod iron gate, too afraid and ashamed to advance.
    Today i walked through the snow and found a field of headstones. They were
  in rows like the weeks on calendars where each box is a day that you can ever
  escape without pills for you poisonous sleep. These memories leak from
  these faucets that weep.
  Hot tears splash against the shower floor and i stand
  in the steam as if inside a dream--i can see her again by the sink from behind the
  bathroom mirror she pulls a thermometer and placed it under my tounge.
    She said "you are as pale as a sheet, you look awful my sweet lay down and
  wait for the sun." So i stayed in that bed. She brought me water and read
  each night from a volume out loud. She whispered soft poetry. Her favorite was
  Anabel Lee. And those words, like these drugs comforted me. But the clocks
  kept waving their hands and she could not understand why my temperature
  would never drop. And although she promised with tears that she would always
  be here i heard truth like the sounding sea.
    I said, "My Arienette, oh how soon
  you'll forget this house will never be your home. And you will leave in the fall
  when the trees become graves and their color lie dead in the grass." Gold and
  green torture me like the lies i believe too easily.
    Oh my Jetsabel, look at this hell
  that i have made. If you want maybe drop by sometime put some flowers on my
  grave. So that i will look beautiful in my silent sepulchur. Yeah thats fine throw
  those dresses away i don't want anything of hers. For the moon never shines
  and the stars never rise without bringing me dreams. Haunted by the ghosts of
  those bright eyes.