Her eyes were yellow love
when she walked away.
Her pearl skin, thousand count;
so taut, smother ***** pound --
the steps beyond thought process
sullen, floundering less and less...

And when she becomes real again,
the hollowness, whatevered wan.
Broken, broken: he loves you
without any soul.

Maybe we're from the same scar.
Maybe the same galactic gutter.
Maybe the same pulpy punch.
Maybe you were my sister
or you were my brother.

Maybe there is a place
where we used to go
to plant our feet
in what we didn't know.

Maybe there is a place
where the whistle grows,
the voices chatter,
the stillness slows.

And maybe, somewhere
or the whistle grows,
the voices chatter,
the stillness shows.

And maybe, somewhere,
or this place, you said to me,
"I hope you remember
that this is a false memory."

Between our two subconscious minds
dries one cigarette
missing the lips of one another and
the sweet relief of familiarity
and bad habits.

To inhale takes focus
To exhale takes bravery
But to do neither
is nothing more than the
cast of a fishing pole
into the pond that is our ocean.
I was fishing without the flat chest
I still call home;
The happiest habit I know--

Mass graves breathing,
like beached jellyfish.
Ketchup packet pastels
painting a diner dish.
I sit and imagine
so many things and more.
I smoke ribbons of grey
that dance around
the diner door.

The people move
and have so much to say.
Watch them scurry and hurry
through the invisible day.
The sun's colors bounce off
weekly washed windows.
And I suffer from the certainty
that my fulfilled dreams
will fulfill me,
as I flick ashes into the world
for the wind to carry away,
dragging shadows.

someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand"