A trail of blood trickles from
my dear cat's nose
and down her neck;

part of my shirt is damp,
thick with crimson touch because
she nuzzled deep into my chest

I wipe the blood off
and begin to feel
it pour from my own
nose like a leaky faucet

I get up and go to the sink
and clean my face, and I look
to the clock on the wall
and realize I'm late for bed

I got work in the morning,
and if I don't make my usual
rounds, I'm as good as dead

My dear cat follows me
back to the bedroom, where
there is no television, no
shelf filled with books, and
no one to hold me close
and tell me everything is
going to be fine

I shrug, kick off my slippers,
switch off the light
and jump into bed;

my cat soon follows.

As I begin to pet her
I start to feel another warm
body in her mouth;

she purrs, and nuzzles,
and drops something
onto my head.

It hurts;
I yowl.

But I'm too exhausted to turn on the light.

It could be another lifeless rat.

Tonight,
instead,--

I imagine it to be
a  full, healthy heart my dear
cat was kind of enough
to bring back from the dead.

I got a wonderful pal
and don't think I mention
him enough;

he's a tiny creature
with a big,
******, beating
heart.

We hardly,
if ever,
see eye to eye
on things;

but it's never too long
before we kiss and make up
(and for the record
they are the best
kisses,
bar none)

If I wasn't so
caught up in the
wild throes
of the brain;

I'd live like he does,

present and care-free.

I got a wonderful pal,

and I love him so.

Do you look around and
pick an attractive stranger and ask
would this individual
make a good spouse?

Are they someone I can depend
on when the going get's tough,
when the world starts
to tilt on it's axis; when
things fall apart,
and everything
I ever owned
is shattered
in tiny
unrecognizable
pieces?

What about the ***?
Can this person
keep up with
my desires, or
will the judge me
by my
turn ons?

Do you take a survey
that outlines this perfect
lover; and do their
beliefs and ideas
align with yours?

Such a beautiful
and tidy future
so easily predicted.

When you're young
it's easy to make a few
mistakes here and there;
it's only when you get older
that you start to
cherry pick.

Don't want to waste anymore time;

Don't want to feel like such

a fool.

No one taught you to
believe in forever, but
somehow that idea
burrowed it's way
into your heart
and set the whole thing ablaze;

Now it's a cinder
of what it used to be
when you were a child.

Twenty or so tabs
of online dating websites
and surveys are open;

Potential partners
profiles preferred;

and plan B's
starred and bookmarked,
cause you never know.

That special someone
is out there.

It's attempt,

after attempt,

until you get it right.

You got a purdy
face; hidden behind
the veil of naivety;

it's a round,
oblong shaped
distraction

Something tells me
you haven't shaved in days,
the whiskey smell still lingers,
and your favorite rigged chips
have left stains

on the couch, on your
only white t-shirt;
nothing but crumbs
all over the carpet

Rent is due,
your face will pay the bills;
it writes the checks
with ruby red lips;

and your body
drags itself like a carcass
just to keep up

The words of a poet
can be so trite
and exhausting;

That's why I turn to
the latest scientific
discoveries;

The medical field
is ripe with beauty;

what was once unknown
is now unraveling;

I hope to never read
a word about Her,
or Him
and how a heart is broken
or mended,
ever again.

My mother and I  met on Cupid.com
I was thirteen and she was forty-five;
but on her profile she was listed as
twenty-nine. We agreed to meet
at the local Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon.

The sun was out;
it's rays like orange sprinkles dusting
the dead, green earth
and snake-like sidewalks.

I sat in the far corner, my head
in a book; every now and then
peeking over the pages my
finger bookmarked. I was reading
******, and I had not made it
past the first page. Lo-Lee-
Ta, or something rather.

She arrived ten minutes later
than the time we agreed on,
but I wasn't angry. She offered
to buy me a Iced Vanilla Frappuccino
and salted caramel cake-pop but I declined.

We sat there for what seemed like a decade.
I was too busy looking around; acting
like I was admiring the art on the walls;
and she was playing with her hands;
humming to a popular female folk singer-
songwriter that was playing over the loudspeakers.

'I can go,' she said after the track finished.

'No, it's okay.
Stay, please' I said.

There was silence.

'It's been a while since I've seen you'
she said.

'I know, I know' I said,
'You lied
about your age.
That's not cool'

'Sorry about that.
I just didn't know
if you'd like me
if I was older
than forty..'

'That's the entire point,
no?' I interrupted.

And I didn't notice
she had bad posture
until she started fidgeting
with her hair; it was in a loose,
unkempt bun. She tugged
at the hair tie until
it all fell down to her shoulders.

I was finally relieved
to see that I had a beautiful
mother and soon suggested
that we go to her place
and talk about my childhood.

She smiled, and made
an attempt to grab the car
keys she left on the table,
but I was quicker.

'No,' I said laughing,
'I'm driving'.

And that was the first
time I ever took charge;
and nothing has changed since.

I did not die in the country I was born in.

I died much, much later;

had my American ashes
scattered all over Bangladesh;
traversed it's many vessels of water.

I swam the Brahmaputra River,
floated upon the skin
of The Ganga; the half-naked
children waved and I couldn't tell
if they were saying hello
or goodbye; but those
waves spread until
I was far out into the sea.

I was forgotten
as swiftly as I was welcomed;
and was loved as easily
as was I avoided.

I looked back on my American
life with discontent. I saw nothing
but tangled knots of thought
laced with consumption,
and accumulation; self-interest
and seclusion; even
sadness was commodified.

The discontent was the push
and pull of a rope
tied to my soul.

I died before I ever left;
but discovered another self
on foreign soil

It wasn't till I had aged
beyond the average life
span for someone like
me in America; did I realize,

I wasted all this time,

dependent on what others

thought of me; what they

expected of me; and what

they considered was best for me.

I was forever exiled from darkness;

but at least I got a little sun
in Bangladesh.