Hahahahahahahah Have Fun with That

•May 26, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I cannot – how could I ever? Knock you up and say that’s all there is to living? Must be kidding. Must be brainwashed to accept such a shitty supposition while you’re waiting on the sidelines of a life you can’t admit was wholly half a crock of shit – you do not love him, and he’s with a couple girls but says just you. I don’t want that. I don’t want that. I don’t want that, and how could you? You are done before you started – you have eyes so small they sharpened onto some small bullshit facet and you’ll get fat while your ass sits on the couch waiting for him and your tail wags like a dog’s when he comes in late wearing cheap perfume and says ‘I’m hungry, baby, how soon til dinner’s ready?’ I think stupid deserves plenty: a love that makes you angry and a baby you don’t want, empty promises from cheaters, laying awake while he’s sleeping, and it’d all be such a pity if it wasn’t all your fault.

The Bottom of a Warm Sea

•May 26, 2016 • Leave a Comment

At the bottom of a warm sea, I am searching for a dry thing – my love is so untimely, she’d do best to rewind me and return me through some mail slot and go shopping for a purse. On the wet sand of a long beach, I am searching for a purity that may have never been true – she can sleep the whole night through – while I sleep days and days away and still find more reasons to fade into her background – on the black ground of hot pavement near a coast I am half Heineken to bloodstream – all my blood being the warm sea, we are one and the same briefly, nodding off in salty sleeping, letting gentle currents creep in to the warm and hidden places – searching for a dry thing, praying to find how it slowly seeps in to unlock forbidden secrets on the sidewall of the deep end of a thousand lies and meaningless apologies for speaking at the bottom of a warm sea, kissing, searching for a dry thing.

To What’s-Her-Face (Whom I’ve Loved Forever)

•May 19, 2016 • Leave a Comment

To what’s-her-face, whom I’ve loved forever – who since I got dropped by I never stopped to not think of while driving, who’s probably somewhere well and thriving –

I am made of bees and hornets; I drink pesticide to quell them and I’ve got some really intriguing thoughts and in an hour or two I just might tell them to you – let’s go smoke a jack – I can’t relax around these people. Cute of you to come along, just cute of you to be there looking perfect in the chaos at the bottom of a stairwell and there’s moths divebombing touch lamps and the flicker made the night air more mysterious – I miss you and I’ve wasted all my time and I’ve got nothing but this longing and a heavily trained eye that only sees you – in old movies, in new tv shows, in truly awful situations where the girl can’t even say my name right.

To what’s-her-face, whom I’ve loved forever – I lied when I said I would try to be better. I failed and I understand why you would never need me in your life, need to be together, you were right and that’s worse – I’m supposed to be smart. And you told me it hurts and I ripped out your heart and went to the bar after, still claiming I cared.

I am made of bees and hornets; you were right to run away. But I would do anything to trade the buzz to watch you lay with your head nestled in my shoulder twitching as you fall asleep. To what’s-her-face, whom I’ve loved forever, I really do mean anything.

C’mon Girl

•May 12, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Go and cash your paycheck come and spend it all on me – got a slider in the basement you won’t ever need a key. You can drive me; I don’t mind things like that; I’ll pick up the first two tabs and every parking meter after that.

Shoot Down the Plane

•April 20, 2016 • Leave a Comment

When you wake up, I will take you out for smoothies and if you’re still hungover after we can watch the sunday movies with your feet upon my lap and your favorite blanket wrapped around your head, like a Russian doll – a memory that soon dissolves into a happy dream and tesselates back to awake but this time I’m asleep:

He’s right, I think – I hate to say –

they will shoot down the plane.

What the sculptor said to the statue

•April 12, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Slow wonders of magic. Like the snake that carved the canyon. It was probably snakes that carved you, too – out of marble and obsidian. Or marlboro light one hundreds and a dozen little boys – with hats pulled down and hands in pockets, still craning for a view of something secret – like the marble would be honest. Like the sculptor even knew what he was carving – it’s all tedious unearthing, rediscovering a new thing that you feel like you have known your whole life -some unrefined feeling it was always here, some underlying truth – and when you say it – hold it on your tongue at first and gently weigh it – then try it out to really taste – it’s so good.

A Letter of Marque

•April 4, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Deceptively thrilling – either flat-tired or winded: got a call from a governess that says she’d like to meet me. There is nothing like a dive bar sink with no mirror for seeing yourself in a bad Cinemax movie. Last week’s “soft” bites broke through and they looked awful, too; the cold won’t abate, so unfortunately neither  can throttle either airway but she’s not blue – we’ve still got hot water and a tea setup for two so we can go to sleep warm, still talking to each other – I’ll leave the letter under that one door that is only in a hallway in her dreams.