shirtless screaming through
the heartland and I used
to smoke cigarettes
too.

she never wanted
to stay: the youth
she had
left demanded it.
now, I'll wager
she's somewhere
in an apartment with
some dandy that
wears sweater vests
to Thanksgiving dinner.

maybe she thinks
about me and my little
twisted heart every
now and again:
like when she's away
from the sweater vest
on the toilet
behind a locked door,
"be right out, babe!"
or toting groceries
through a parking lot
to her car,
or signaling a
left turn before
changing her mind
and deciding to
go straight instead.

and
maybe I need to
stop thinking
about her
especially after
three years
incommunicado

but what can I say?
I've never slept on
a bed of nails
I couldn't
dream on.

last night i stayed up late after the sun kissed the horizon's eyelids and wrote poems as letters to all my exs and some to my one night stands lying to them about not being scared of the dark anymore and that i don't recall the exact shape their outline made on my bed sheets.
this morning when the sun rose pink through my window i
did not lick the envelopes instead i lit the corners with
matches and shouted out their names to the walls in
my bedroom. my feet did not take me to the
mailbox instead i'm standing on cold toes
naked in front of the bathroom mirror
waiting for enough warm water to
collect in the tub for me to bathe
in. tonight i'll drink the star-
light that spills out on
the cold kitchen
floor tile and convince
myself i've never truly been
loved by anyone; that i've gotten
here by sheer force of will. that i'm
fearless and invincible while my fingers
fumble with the heavy pistol and my tears
write her name in the folds of my favorite shirt.
tonight is another late night holding sepia pictures
of her because i'm scared to go to sleep alone now. my
whole body hurts when i think about the new empty closet
space she left and how her hand would find a nest in the soft
crook of my elbow when we were walking anywhere or the fresh
shock of electricity when my fingers first found her fingers and her
fingers tied my fingers to my other fingers tight around her waist. my feet ache, because the first time we danced it felt like i had swallowed
a gallon of violent purple hummingbirds and my earlobes are
burning swollen because her painted lips aren't here to cool
them down. her finger nails found the place between my
shoulder blades naturally and i feel so foolish because i
gave my whole self to her but it was an unwanted gift.
it's three in the ******* morning again and i'm
writhing under the thick down blanket but her
velvet toes aren't tucked deep into the small
of my back for warmth. before i choke on
my mistakes and crush my fat tongue
with a bullet i just need to ask her
why

why did i lose you to him?
why are his hand prints on your hips?
why does he get to wake up next to you?
why can't i think of a good excuse to call you?
why did my right foot disappear when you left me?
why does his morning breath get to tickle your eyelashes?
why can't i remember what your nose looks like when you laugh?
why isn't my pillow as comfortable as your bellybutton?
why do you have nothing to say to me anymore?
why does my mouth still taste like a bird's nest?
why did you take my cast iron skillet?

Fingers of fire
Flaming desire
Flirting with strings
Melted angel wings
Acoustic profanity
Electric insanity
Liquid bricks in your heart
Tearing you apart
A nuclear star
Now that is the sound of a proper guitar!