I question everyone's sincerity.
From the Pope to the president,
From a stranger to a friend.
You held all the signs of a true love blossoming,
But we've both made mistakes before.
In a quiet, midnight embrace:
Straddled,
Sweating,
Loving,
My forgetfulness took hold and I was entrenched by your beauty.
You may not be sincere in the least,
But the way you hold me says otherwise.
I am a fool,
A sucker,
A sinner.
I am everything that I hoped you would not be.

This time it's Fate.
No longer can I pretend
for we have run out of track
and we must stop now
lest we careen over the ghastly drop before us
lest our hearts inevitably smash to smithereens.

There's a small vice on my heart
that you turned incrementally since the day we kissed
Always there was space to manoeuvre
wriggle
a gap to shift around in and say, 'That's better'
to comfortably fool myself that I was not caught.
But now, my dear....
Now the grip leaves me gasping
and that metal feels cold
and I cannot ignore it.
The trouble is
I kissed your elegant, beautiful face
and I guided your hand to that vice in my chest
and enveloped your fingers with mine
We turned those keys together.
I was so enamoured
and I wanted your love.
I told myself I could get out at any time.

Too late, my love
It was always too late
For we're kindred souls across lifestyles
and lifetimes
and my body knows yours like the taste of my tears.
I resign myself, then, to bleeding.
I resign thee to Fate and what she may decide
knowing only that never shall I be your jailor.
I refuse to allow
that wild tempest soul to be anything but free.

I am happy to be caught.
Though I writhe with this pain
and slumber eludes me in my misery.
For one thing I have realised
is the depth of my cowardice.
Although yours came out as tenored and trembling
you still had the bravery to speak the words emblazoned on your heart
the ones that threatened to fall from your lips
as my head lay perfectly in situ against your collarbone
and my heartbeat and breathing lined up with yours
in our quiet symbiosis at 3 a.m.
I danced around the words
flitted lightly, noncommittal
and said 'I think I'm falling in love with you',
which was a lie.
You are far braver than I
and to this day I've run
but you deserve far greater than that which I have meted out to you.
You deserve honesty.
You deserve the breadth and depth of what my heart aches to tell you
though I am frightened beyond words that the vice can go no tighter.

I love you.

Much too late
for thoughts
of what her father
might say

Fay went with you
to the Globe cinema
in Camberwell Green
a right fleapit of a place

but the film
you wanted to see
was on there
Daniel Boone

all about the Old West
and after it was over
and you came out
into the bright sunlight

your eyes felt
over whelmed
after the darkness
of the cinema

what did you think?
you asked
Fay said
yes it was good

not the sort of film
Daddy would have let me see
well he won't know
you've seen it

will he
you said
unless he asks me
then I'll have to

tell him the truth
she said
why would he ask?
you looked at her

standing there
with her fair hair
and lovely blue eyes
he might ask me

what I have done today
she said
her eyes beginning
to show signs of fear

maybe he won't
you said
just tell him
you've been studying

American history
she looked at her hands
he doesn't like America
or Americans

she said
well you don't have to
like something to study it
I have to do it all week

at school
you said
maybe he won't ask
she said softly

looking at you
fiddling with her fingers
distract him
tell him something else

talk about a butterfly
you saw on the bombsite
she looked at you
and smiled

you don't know him
he'll ask me
what sort of butterfly
and I won't know

and he'll know
I've been lying
and that will mean
being punished

she looked up the street
toward the bus stop
we had better be getting back
she said

he'll be home soon
ok
you said
and took her hand

and walked toward
the bus stop and waited
for the bus
if I told my mother

the truth all the time
she'd have a nervous breakdown
it's more kinder
to keep her happy

in innocent bliss
of what I get up to
Fay looked haunted
and was silent

she still held your hand
a fading bruise just visible
on her upper arm
where her dresses sleeve

moved
how about some ice-cream
when we get back
I've got a Shilling

given to me
by my old man yesterday?
she hesitated
ok I’d like that

she said
and when the bus
came along
you both got on

and sat next
to each other
downstairs near
the conductor

watching the scenes
of passing people
and traffic go by
but a special place

in your mind and heart
of Fay
next to you
quiet and shy.

me to cigarette
by emily morgan

cool quiet entrance
now his.
burrowed
invaded
imbedded
little stones
chipped wood
plastic fuzz glass
burnt laid down in a bed of
debris
sogging sitting tobacco
back from where he came


cigarette to me
by emily morgan

get your iphone out of my face
instagram ignorance
snapchat social justice
tweet tribal tattoos
facebook fascism/and-any-other-ism-you-know
tumblr sexuality issues
sweaty pierced skin
brow burrowed with thoughts
get your iphone out of my face

As the iron bars that wrap the night
creep in they hold me tight
a prisoner
and for what delight pray tell
should I spend these tiring hours in hell?
The windows laugh at me as they see me looking through and out into the gloom
and all I smell is doom
my bedroom is small and the evening is as tall as any giant
with foreboding
I stay quiet and wait.
Late.
It is late and there is no rebate to come from the warmth and joy that was the Sun
and it is cold
this terror I feel is not the least
for this night's no friend to man or beast
it is the cheat that plays the cards
the feral cat that like a baby howls in the back yards and alleyways,
and fat
the night is fat with jowls that sag
and drags its feet
across this man's back who failed to meet the sandman with his bag of sleep.
I weep
slowly
how slow the second hand takes to sweep around the dial
and slower still
the night creeps up and down my spine.
Even so
the night will go
I bear this thought in mind.

She was sitting there in her grey cardigan and self-satisfaction
And she said, "They're going to be putting a cap and gown on a chair for him."
And I said, "That makes me so sad. It makes me think of our 8th grade graduation.
Oh god. That makes me so sad." picturing a freshly ironed gown for a dead graduate

It was a few minutes later and the kettle began to whistle
And someone made some smart remark about some stupid topic
And I sighed and I said, "I just can't do it"
And she said, "Jeez, you’re just lacking emotional maturity today”
I excused myself and avoided her for the remainder of the day

I found myself a few people I might consider my friends (if anyone)
I sat down for a minute and said, "I just can't do it"
And the one turned his cigarette-yellowed teeth to me and said,
"They just aren't as cynical as you, huh?"
And I looked him in the eye and he smiled, meant nothing by it
Maybe just, "Shut up, will you? Just breathe for a minute"
And the other, with his slicked back hair and Tom Waits voice
Said, "Not everybody can be a female Louis C.K."
And I smiled and said, "Screw you"
Then I excused myself

And I found myself a quiet corner where I could collect the pieces enough
To hold myself together for two hours of calculated performance
Until I could go home
And quietly fall apart again