When I met you for the first time, I thought your eyes were the biggest I’d ever seen
And I ignored my usual dislike of mouths as large as yours,
Reasoning that it should be so wide to accommodate the smiles you always wore.
At lunch, you quoted Mia Wallace and I should have known then to run.
Instead, I asked you about New York.
Your food got cold because you talked for so long.
I was silent and full.
Driving you back home, I told you my first lie when you asked if I was an atheist.  
We had *** in your bathroom the next day.
I watched movies you liked.
I told you my second lie when I pretended to cry at the end of Elizabethtown
We had *** again that night.
Roughly.
I told you I would move back to New York with you in the fall.
Another lie.
Another ******.
Lying to you came naturally and so I did it often.
It makes sense, then, that the whole affair would end with a lie.
New York wasn’t the problem.
You were.

There are no ways to safeword out of this life.
I know, I’ve tried them all.
Elephant, apple, Alaska, amen.
Tried screaming anything into the pillow my face is pushed down into,
Whiskey, tango, foxtrot, stop
Exhausted my vocabulary against the blanket my fists are balled into fists against,
Anything to make the beatings stop
But they just
Keep
Coming.
In ****, having a safeword is like wearing a seatbelt.
There are rules about having one
And the ones who choose to do without
Are taking risks.
We are born without lifejackets, without seatbelts and safecut scissors
Without breakaway glass or rubberized mats
Without any way to make the world slow down
Let us catch our breath,
And jump back in.
There are no hard limits in the real world.
So we bite into our gags and wait for the session to end.
Elephant, apple, Alaska, amen.

stood outside and waited for you,
Looking around the parking lot
You pushed your way through the crowd
Just to hold my hand
We went north to Michigan
Where the beach was so cold,
We practically ran back to the car
And had our picnic in the passenger seat

I drove west to Arizona
Just so I would feel warm again
It’s a dry heat.
It doesn’t help

We watched the news in Oklahoma
And you held my hand again
And we shook my demons off for the night
We drove through to California
You said you saw me
On a scuba trip in Bermuda
On the ocean floor, dancing with a mermaid
It was only a dream.
Go back to sleep,
It was only a dream.

If you get home before me
Don’t go in the kitchen.
I left an awful mess.

Floor matted with hair
Dye stains in the sink
Don’t go in the kitchen
I left a terrible mess

I’ll be back in a minute;
I’ve just left for the cleaners
Let’s go to the theatre tonight
The kitchen can wait

Leave the candles burning
Put on your fur coat
Let’s take in a show
And never come back

Standing naked on the porch
New gold rings on my fingers
Morning mist in the valley
I couldn’t stop myself.
I couldn’t even try.
Call the healers and call the medics.
Send for a witchdoctor.
Someone needs to wake her up
Morning sun in the valley
It’s gonna be a hot one.

Two men, both having recently used “Just for Men Touch of Grey”,
Stood waiting for their valet-parked cars,
Making idle conversation,
When a boy- no, he was a man I suppose,
Floated by
Like a cracked brown leaf
Buffeted on cold wind
Down the sidewalk and around the corner,
His brow crumpled and knotted
Dull eyed and rattling.
A blue wool coat, only just barely too big
Hung on his shoulders.
“What do you make of that man,
Well fed and dressed,
Looking like a kicked dog?”
Asked the first man
“Why don't you ask him yourself?”
Replied the second,
Both checking their watches
And quickly searching the lot for
Their oncoming cars,
Fishing in their pockets for
An extra little something
To give the valets.

Who knew gold would grow
On green stalks
If left alone in the yard.
Old farm house
Abandoned 60 years


A wobbling car pulls in the driveway,
Lights blazing into the house.
She’s inside knitting,
Kids asleep on the floor.
I stagger in, my demons on my breath
Around my head, in the passenger seat
She starts yelling and tearing,
Spit flecking off her lips.


Covers pulled up to our chins
Waiting for the storm to pass.
Like it passes every night.


He comes in,
Eyes cut out of granite


Ruts in the yard,
Red dust in the air.
My god, my god,
What have I done?


Mom?
Dad?
Mom?