The Vinegar of Feelings

•June 25, 2020 • Leave a Comment

Took a penny, left a jar. Shook as many hands at bars as money would allow me – shouting harmlessly at hornets, warning them with newsprint, tipping ever heavier til holes wore in my pocket as the fireworks were launching and the sunsets were saharan – perfect purples pinked with glamour and blown particles of sand and you weren’t there (hell, I was – at best – barely) –

Regret is such a funny thing – the vinegar of feelings. Acetic and acerbic, bubbling up in the morning. I feel like a trash heap on a rooftop in Nairobi –

Guitar in Russia

•June 23, 2020 • Leave a Comment

Played guitar in russia – you should have seen it; they were lovely – til it all become a money thing and I begged for sobriety; it’s tough to know my best ideas come out of hopeless longing. But when I play a song I wrote and strangers sing it note for note…. then that’s really something.

We are waiting for the appetizers that we never asked for – waiting for the snow storm that the weather team would swear is bearing down upon us as we speak but outside, it is dreamy – it’s like when I fed filet mignon to you; at first, you ate it greedily, almost bit the fork and smiled and winked and then discretely rubbed my leg beneath the table.

Check, Please

•June 15, 2020 • Leave a Comment

I get confused about continued use and whether I am dying or surviving – whats the tool they use to tell you you’re alive and what’s the buy-in? I could choose to lose my weekday blues but then that means divining meaning out of pure unhappiness and often subtly trying times that shouldn’t be so difficult but people fucking suck. A whole fleet of untitled brats so hungry and so dumb. Fuck em all. I barely make it count; I get tired for nothing. These fuckers couldn’t do without and now my family hates me. What a trade off. What a shitty world to live a worthless life in. On the next reincarnation cycle, god had better kill me.

[A Rider Rides]

•June 13, 2020 • Leave a Comment

A rider riding stridently across the salty rye arrives – early! Solving strife and wives, to try to wile away the times – the fines keep going up; it’s fine – this wine relies on simple lies, inclement weather, fresh cut limes. I mind it – my insipid lines are something to be taken light. No sight unseen amenities, no love lost for my enemies. There are times I think my memories are half a paycheck short.

When a Drone Leaves the Hive

•May 17, 2020 • Leave a Comment

They never stop talking, yet they never say a thing. They gotta get drunk to enjoy themselves because being alone seems too much like who they really are (there’s really not much there). So they laugh a notch or two too loud, hang out on neighbors’ stairs, thinking they’re cool for sneaking drinks when really – it’s more no one cares as they greet passers-by with stupid taunts, exaggerated yelps – so desperate for attention, while still (un)happy with themselves. They hang with like minded-losers who show five of seven signs; they look like trash and sound like toddlers, scoured the internet for lines to avoid thinking of their own (not having talent nor the time) and think it’s silly how they’re drowning right before our very eyes.

It makes me tired, working so hard to act like they haven’t tried –

And it gets nothing but a borrowed cigarette and drunken sigh, when it’s time to pack it up at the bleak end of the night. Sleep for nothing, wake for no one, pretend things are still alright – it makes me very, very, very, very, very, very tired.

Morning Divinations

•May 10, 2020 • Leave a Comment

Sunday morning, having coffee with you – bringing our chipped cups to bed while you catch up on your news (it’s all just scrolling, so much scrolling -). You say later, you’ll be going to the grocery store; the list is there – if I need something add it. Mornings hit me somewhat harder, due to various bad habits but you’re beautiful through puffy eyes and hair stuck to your forehead. And I am fortunate a naked goddess stays and lets me worship.

You never want a second cup; I make mine when you’re just half done – we alternate our cigarettes smoked out the bedroom window. “Will it be nice out today?” you ask. Not sure – I say I think so. And you doze off and I’ll wake you when I dress after my shower. You have a faint hint of a secret, sleeping on your lips and driving home later I realize – what Johnny Cash said about sips of morning coffee with his lover is what heaven has to offer.

(You are better when I’m absent and I’m better when it’s tragic. But we’re humans, silly humans, and we deserve to be happy.)

Undoing a Masterpiece

•May 8, 2020 • Leave a Comment

At the edge of your horizon lies a tower where they keep me. I’ve been waiting here a long time and they say don’t tell your secrets so I’m quiet for the most part; I’m polite and I just keep it to myself a little while, and of course smile when it seems fit.

Must be spring – my throat is itching. What that brings is endless bitching – now, the patriots lost focus, then went blind about the true things – heard a demagogue on youtube and convinced themselves the meaning doesn’t matter. Even after all this ends I won’t believe it – still trapped on your horizon. When you think of me, I feel it. We spent all our lives pretending like we didn’t care for realness – now it’s here and we have nothing. We are drunk and lonely, fumbling for nice words we don’t deserve to salvage out some stupid something that passed long ago. The tough thing is to know the slow climb back.

You were a loser, and I loved you. It just goes to show that undoing a masterpiece is easier than making it yourself.

Paperless Billing

•May 8, 2020 • Leave a Comment

The quarantine subscription auto-renewed its prescription. They will email you the bill when all the restaurants are back open. For my part, I sit here hoping that nothing will be the same and dream of coworkers and coffee, and I am proud that what was sloppy piles of weeks-old dirty dishes are all cleaned and in their cabinets and the glue traps lost their stick due to the dust mites and dead skin but not to pregnant little mouses – so it’s nice to have a house that’s more a home – a holy refuge. I may be alone and destitute but mama always told me – it’s much better to be happy and I am.

What You Were Before

•March 28, 2020 • Leave a Comment

There is a door to the afterlife; it’s guarded by a serpent. And whenever you come back to life – the garden nymphs are certain that their blooming brings you in, and their fragrance masks your solvence. So pour another fireball (I think that I deserve it) – just to catch a glimpse of you undressing underneath the evening curtains.

Do you know what you were before? Because I think I saw you. Your new face doesn’t get it, sure, but if we’re being honest I remember you from past lives – from the gas stations and sonnets – too hard to put a label on, too shifty to respond but when you’re gone there is a pathway that gets overgrown with weeds. And when you’re back and smiling happily the shepherd’s purse recedes and I can’t be the only one who knows.

I

just

can’t

be.

Do you remember what you were before? You meant something to me.

Amelia

•March 5, 2019 • Leave a Comment

What did you say when you fell through the breeze, landing broken – crushed bones, smashed up on the reef?

They find debris off the coast of australia and new zealand and they tally off the reasons that a scallywag would need them to run inventory mondays when the “open” sign’s not on, or to take vitamins depleted in the form of sexy salt and I have so much Im not doing; it extends towards infinite; I have a thousand story startings and a penchant for bullshit and it’s as true as it is fiction; it’s as vaguely superstitious as having both feet up while driving when you cross a railroad track.

Maybe she forgot her good luck charm, little thing shaped like a wing – left it home to be forgotten when they auctioned everything after deciding that was ballgame – call it done and let’s go home. A little atoll is an awful place to die on, all alone.