Her name was
Amy, she was
18 and I was 21.
We met the
summer after my
Mom died.
She had a scholarship
to Iowa State for
swimming.
We didn't have
air conditioning, and it was
a brutally hot summer.
I got sick, and couldn't
work; pretty soon
I couldn't get
off the couch.
I had my brother run
to the corner and
use the payphone to call
the ambulance.
It turned out I had
double pneumonia.
They also realized I was
drinking a lot and would
need help medically to
d-tox.

Amy visited me in
the hospital.
She snuck my kitten in.
We made out in my bed.
She was beautiful.
I felt so alive when
I was with her.
The kitten got loose and
ran down the hall.
The nurses laughed.

I got out of the
hospital and began
drinking again immediately.
Amy broke up with me.
She said, "I can't be with
an alcoholic."
I was sad, but I still had
the kitten, until it
got smashed by
a car one sweltering
July night.
Mom
Amy
the kitten--all gone.
Then, I really started
drinking.

She used to clean my ears with hydrogen peroxide.
She cut and cleaned my toenails and fingernails.
She shaved my neck and back.
She even popped my zits. When I first went to
her apartment, she had me strip down in the hall,
so that she could wash the clothes I was wearing.
This all made me a bit uncomfortable.
I was sleeping on her couch one night. She came out of her room, wrapped in a blanket, and asked if I would lie down with her.
I did.
We were both naked, and I went to work on her.
She later cried and said,
"I wish I could take your pain away."
At the moment,
I didn't have any.
The next day, after I bought her over a
hundred bucks worth of groceries, she kicked me out.
Her last words were,
"You just want somebody to take care of you."

Tired and twisted
broken and listless
another day in prison ****** me off.
Last night was Christmas, and I
miss my kids so much,
it feels like I've been shanked.
I sell my desserts for coffee;
my one luxury in the joint.
The complexion of my day is
gray, and lonely as a
tea bag in the ocean.
Everything is gray:
The sky
the weights
the walls
the blood
the food
the fence
The mood, the soul, the yard, the heart
and the beat of the false dawn.
It's all tombstone gray.
Hate thickens the air.
And the light on the
horizon is a lie--razor wire sharp.

I watch life float
by like a dragon-fly
riding the breeze.

Strangely enough, I
almost missed the
birth of my three year
old daughter.
I have never written much for
popularity or trends; this one
is no exception.
My girlfriend and I
had been separated most
of her pregnancy.
I stabilized the last three months and
was able to
travel the 50 miles
as often as needed to
be there for the birth.

The night before she went
into labor, that morning, she acted
crazier than usual--passive aggressive,
and cruel biting remarks.
Finally, she just came out with it,
"I looked at your phone while you were sleeping,
and you have been watching ****.  I'm taking you
back to Mason City and you can just miss
the birth of your daughter.

Luckily, we only made it a few blocks before
she went in to labor.
But, she hasn't let me
live it down.
And I hoped like hell,
as I looked down at my
little angel,
I sure the **** hope
that she never becomes
a **** star.

He had that
groaning soul
loneliness, like a
puffy white cloud,
floating aimless, and
aching toward the
black abyss--that gray sky
sadness;
like he was
five years old and just
watched his dog get
hit by a car.
You could smell
the pain--taste it,
like potato chips on a
sore throat.
It smelled like a
basement or cobwebs.
I told him, "Nothing will heal that crap,
just time and dirt."
He didn't blink,
and his soft walnut eyes
flashed
crossword confusion.