I will rip the first three pages
from your favorite book and I will
eat the memories I have of you
in one
bite.

I will devour any trace of you by
burning
my skin
away.

I will dissolve every look every time every
good intention on my tongue like
bad
sugar

and

like bad sugar, you
will remain
a temporary
satisfaction
for anyone
you touch.

all the razors and rough edges and
clean teeth as well as
***** socks and
shoulders all shoulders,
be they scrawny or broad, be they above or below
eye-
level.

some have ****** hair and books
some bring me hats and framed vinyl
some have early mornings and
most have late nights.

they all have futures
many have fantastic
dreams and the others have their work
instead, but most just want a place to lay down for awhile.

all sweatshirts and quiet words and the ability to
stop my mind from blistering in the warmth of them.
then in cars, screaming at other cars and anger
that I won't admit
frightens me.

the different walls and the posters
and paintings plastered
on them in an effort to
belong,

eyes that tell me not to look too far into them
for fear of growing down. for fear of
becoming a bore.

those closed eyes and sleep talk
to open minds and cheap dates and hands that are
larger than mine.

I know them to be true those
eyes those chins
those men those boys

those
hearts.

I'm very afraid that
one day I'll wake and
find myself
as smug as can be
sitting in a pile
of my
own
mistakes,
of my own
regrets,
holding them over
everyone's heads


like you do
to me.

Reality bites
       sinks long curved narrow pointed teeth into a daydream
  drags it to the ground, rips away
     flecks of joy flying in all directions
             generous splatters of hope on the wall

and it is done.

Given the rarity of shooting stars,
perhaps it’s not best to use one
in it’s capacity for wishgranting,
to ask for your affections;
to which I’ve become nearly a slave.

Given the beauty of the lake in summertime,
perhaps it’s not best that we sit by it.
Your beauty, in all it’s splendour
would make the lake seem dead,
and rob the world of it’s worth.

Given the depth of my love for thee,
perhaps it’s best for you to stay away.
I may not be able to part from you,
and like all flowers kept indoors,
without freedom, you wouldn’t bloom.

Given that the star has not fallen,
and the lake is still beautiful,
and you are free as the sky and the surface of the lake,
I’ll be content with the idea of love,
and set my eyes in the stars above.

"What are you thinking about now?" he asked,
across the table,
over the empty plates,
into the silence of an unfinished conversation.

"Is it normal to be terrified?" I want to say.
And when will writing not feel like assembling a jigsaw puzzle
where all the pieces are gray,
or like being in a country with nothing but
out of date currency?

But no words come,
or maybe it was all the wrong words—
I don't remember.

What I remember is this:

With tired eyes and a precise, compassionate voice,
he looked at me and said,
"Fear is a useful diagnostic tool."

And then, when we got up from the table,
he took my wine glass, not quite empty of a good Chilean red,
put it to his lips,
and drank it.

She blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth
And I loved her more every time she did it
Feet beat rhythm, rhythm
On the pavement cracked and stained

Lines never looked so smooth
As they did to either side of her
In dead spaces, all, lit bleak

"It gets the taste out better, water
Better than gin, I don't know why."

My heart screams curses
Running on ***** Camels, running
Shaking pulsing, kicking, dry

"Takes two Spirits to get like this
Two ******* Spirits, waste," I spit

Spit hits the ground in fat rain drops,
"Why smoke if you can't stand the taste?" she breathes, so slow

Why smoke at all? For the health of it?
I smoke for you, my love
All jacked up on cigarettes for you
Don't question it, don't inquire.

She blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth
Cancerous, our hearts beat low.