I walk into the room,
my coat still fresh
with the scent of tobacco.
From the corner of one eye,
I glimpse you
and you glimpse me.
I nod. You nod.

I walk forward into the store.
I could've sworn you were leaving,
but you follow me in
with a friendly hello.
How did you know?
How did you know
that I wanted to see you, too?
Talk to you, too?
Palms sweat, I fix my hair
over and over again.
I like you,
but I can't say it.
I've watched this dance before.

Oh, the games we play.

I dream of clouds
that never rain.
I dream of orange-colored umbrellas
that shade us from both the sun
and the downpours.
I dream of sweet, sandy shores.

I saw something in your countenance
that almost haunts me.
We all let ourselves dream
as much as we want.
I want to stop dreaming
and have the real thing.

I'm jittery as ****,
just plain out of luck.
Wishing I could duck
out and take just one drag.

Surely, that wouldn't be so bad.
I'm going a tad mad.
My will has never been ironclad.

We play among the vines
of overgrown, ripe wine.
The birds fly before us,
their songs a bittersweet chorus.
Lemony drops of dew
line each fence, window, and hall.
You drop your shawl
and walk towards me, your head held tall.
I will never forget the call
of these sweet, simple Saturdays
that go by in a haze.

Take a deep breath,
and forget about death.
Once more, I set the stick aglow.
My fingers smell of tobacco.
Oh, I wish you could know.
Tenderly I blow.
I want to let go,
let my habit lie fallow,
but I'd miss the flow.

This is precious cargo.

Words. Words. What an odd word, the word word is.
It has vowels and deep sounds.
It grumbles and roars.
The sounds percolate in my mouth,
Unfamiliar, yet free.
And it comes to a close,
my wits at an end.
But what end?
Where have they ended?
Where does it stop?
Stop. Stop. Stop.
And begin again.

Sometimes you hurt like a needle,
sometimes like a knife.
Sometimes I can't bear to look at you.
Sometimes you're all I can look at.

And those arms,
they were big enough for us all,
though you wouldn't have thought it by looking at them.
One ****** Thanksgiving night,
when all the other children slept
turkey-filled dreams,
we wept in those arms.
She wrapped us tight,
so that the events of the night
wouldn't hurt us any longer.
One ******, Thanksgiving night,
she did her best to make everything all right.

Where do I start?
Where do I end?
I keep thinking
my life will never begin.
I need to stop blinking
because it all hurts like hell.
I'll never see you again.
I'll never see
you
again.
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry

Can I say it again?
I'm sorry.

That ragged blue couch
Is held together by nothing
more than habit.

You walk towards me,
a warm drink in hand.
The steam floats up, up, up,
twirling and dancing
like the ballerina in my old music box.

The window hangs open,
a summer breeze blows in.
The air is soft and blue,
cooling with each darkening hour.

Do you remember it so?
No?

It was the last summer before the funeral
and speeches, each word with less meaning
than the next.
It was the last summer of sun
and silence so sweet.
Of iced tea and long walks through the streets.
The last summer of fires and marshmallows,
and of Patsy Cline, oh so fine.

It was the last summer
on that old, blue couch,
a summer wind blowing,

with you there.

Feel my body.
How it curves and lifts,
how it can be sweet or bitter.
Put your hands about me
and warm your body against mine.
How strong,
how rich,
how smooth I am!
I can reduce any man to despondency.
Once he gets a sip of me,
he'll never let go.
My scent sends you to tears,
I know.
How moody you grow without me!
You could choose tea,
but where would you be
without little ol' coffee?

Things fall apart.
People fall apart,
slowly at first.
And then all at once,
until they're just dust
and ashes.

She showed me kindness
not through words,
but with silence.
She lay in the grass
like that,
staring at me.
Effusive, complaisant, alluring.
Daring me to want her.
In her eyes was a challenge,
and I rushed to meet them.

I kissed a boy in France.
He asked me to save him a dance,
but I didn't like the speed of his advance.
He never had a chance.
Love -
is it all just happenstance?

I stand in lines
and wait for better times.
The sun shines,
We **** on limes,
tequila on our minds.

There are all kinds.

So I pass out my dimes
to pay for the ******* fines,
as we listen to the chimes
and the pretty, pretty rhymes.

Yes, I have been wined and dined,
but I have also been worked to a grind.
I'm no mastermind,
but I have tried hard to align

the faults of the self
with the faults of the rest.

You're like a record.
Play one side,
and you think you know the whole tune,
but flip it once
and it's all brand new.

It's only fitting that people be music,
since life is a dance
we must all learn the moves to.

Had I come another time,
I never would have met
You.
I never would have seen
You.
Just one wrong turn of a corner and
You
would never have entered my life.
How strange a thought,
Living a life where I didn’t know
You.

My consistent failure permits me no joy.
But failure does bring a certain freedom.
It frees you from expectations,
And I like that.
I liked how freeing failure felt.
In bits, it’s crushing,
But in totality, it is magic.
Entrancing,
As alluring as any man or woman.

It would be nice, yes,
To not have to think about money.
Then again,
It would be nice to not have to think
About anything.
That’s what so much of life is nowadays - not thinking.
Avoiding, at all costs, the chance that you might be forced to think about your life.
What you’ve lost, what you’ve yet to lose, and why it even matters that
You’re losing anything at all.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Maybe you should leave me alone.
Maybe you should shut the hell up.
Maybe you should stop reminding me of all my missed opportunities,
Missed friendships,
Missed loves,
Missed lives.
Maybe you should stop the judgement,
And just let the smoke float up through the air.
It’ll evaporate there.
I promise. The only one I’m hurting is myself.