I published a children’s book
So that I could say I was a writer
Before then it was just
Scratches in my notebook
Notes in my phone
Conversations in my head

That first month
After the publishing
And the handling
The marketing
distributing

I had 18 cents
That said I can do this
And so I probably will

I always finish the wine when it’s opened

My thumb’s always the shoehorn for my shoe

I always miss the snow in the spring time

And I’m always thinking about you.

I didn't want to get sick
so I let them stab me with a needle
after they made sure
I had the right paperwork

you used to buy the case
before the rest of us had the *****
you walked right in to that asian market on 3rd
and placed the beer on the counter
they once asked for your license
you told them you had a dui
they never questioned you again

I'd park out somewhere with a view
Splurge on a high end whiskey bottle
Turn the music up just enough
And drink a glass for each year
I wouldn't be working any more

I'd be broke
no doubt

no one knows about the internet in the 20's
so my programming skills wouldn't get me very far

I haven't read enough about historic sporting events
to make any money gambling

I wouldn't even know how to apply for a job
would I have to use a typewriter to type my resume?

I could start a moonshining business
but I wouldn't know where to get the moonshine

I could predict the future for a fee
but I would be limited to things that happen in the distant future

perhaps I could write a fictional novel of a dystopian future
and just write my memoir of everything I can remember

for all the plans you’ve made
but have never found the time

with your deep brown
blue green misty eye gaze
your soft lips gently touching
my collar
your dark red blonde
hair lifting off your shoulders
dixie cup half full
half spilling onto the seat
laughter shaking us enough
to pull over pull each other
while the dashboard hums in unison
aftermath jokes only we comprehend
we speak of picket fences and lemonade
front porch parties for our families
tiny feet puttering over dirt and grass
gray hairs and soft mornings
dim light reading and early evenings
wait for us
I am simply
waiting for you

Something about the smell on my
fingers, lingering
But for whatever reason
when I chew tobacco
I feel like the cowboy
I grew up wanting to be

the wind resided temporarily
damp clothes held to our skin
the jack daniels bottle
orbiting our group
speaking mildly
half dizzy
we said why we loved
one another

I wrote a poem that
I regretted writing
with a piercing headache
fingertips still trembling
I took my phone from the end table
closed one eye
and tapped away the words
with brief stroke of removal
then proceeded to collapse back on the pillow
for another half hour of tormented sleep

I'm thankful for my dog
because she gets excited
to head to the backyard
and chase a ball for a little while

she must have found what she wanted
because here I am at 26
looking back she thinks she may have been too young
but her and my father are not the divorcing type
she tends her garden every spring
and looks forward to visits from her sons
she spoils her grand-dogs
and is looking forward to grandchildren
that may be years away
but now there are friends to walk with
on occasion, a party to host
a wine cooler
she confides in me
that she is happy and would do it all again
I'm too young for her advice
but feel too old to require it
even so, I listen

I didn't have bitters
I didn't have an orange peel
I didn't have a mixer
I didn't have ice cubes

sugar in a glass
splashed with whiskey
teaspoon swirl

terrible

I want something other than ****
with the short shorts showing
everything
the low-cut crop top
exploring eyes wander over
on countless evenings
my imagination having nothing
left

I want smokey flannel
a two-day-old pony tail
boots stained by the dirt and grass
a hole in your jeans
that wasn't there when you found them

I want hungover-fastfood-drive-throughs
with my shorts and your tank top
wrinkled from your floor
your hair still wet from the morning shower

I want leggings, a t-shirt
and a backwards ball cap
while we sing loudly out the open window
tapping the dashboard off-beat
hand raised fingers pointing at the moon
laughing at the man that sits watching us drive

sometimes I wake up in the morning
and pretend I can start all over
that my forehead pounding will subside
and when I delete the messages I sent
they will be gone forever
I will work my job
my coworkers believing
I live a settled life
that I didn't drink the bar as dry as I could
or slept on a friend's couch with the girl
my friend wanted in his bed
I drink a cold glass of water
hoping it will breath life into me
and down ibuprofen like candy
the world creeps in through the blinds
and I tell myself I'm okay
I can't be too far gone
my phone vibrates and it takes
everything I have not to throw it
out the window
and drive my car east until
I no longer recognize street signs
park on the side of the road somewhere
and just be quiet for awhile
but instead I get dressed
check my watch
stumbling towards the door
because today I start all over

I have given up on most
the way growing up
we tormented each other
or was that simply me
I remember the laughing
so I learned to make you laugh
can you love me now

surrounded by music rather
than campfire
your touch intends
to pull me closer
tonight we are lovers
the door shut
here we are again
less afraid this time
still, the miles matter
regardless how much
we will find this again
in another place
at another time

We clanked our wine glasses together
Suits for the occasion
And I tried to remember the names
Especially the ones who’s faces I recognize
One man in particular looks older than I remember, with a haircut far too young
Talking all about
The deal of the last year
Maybe a Christmas bonus this year
So he can go home to his wife
“Look honey we can buy another car”
And maybe this time she won’t sleep
With the neighbor
I shake his hand hard because the poor old b*stard needs something
And maybes its this extravagant event
guys like me shaking his hand firm enough
That he knows he’s important somewhere
And we are all impressed by his hard work and loyalty

too young to understand the words I said
I gave it all to the girl who held my hand
before anyone else would
she kissed me softly
and that
I thought
kept the world together
until I made her's fall apart

having tried to fall too many times
I remain dull and unmoving
yearning for the way it felt
when she commented on my crooked smile
and explained what made me beautiful

we would move mountains so that
our journeys could wander together
if we held close
but in letting go
I have found I love too much, give too much
lie too much and
break too many people

you see
I am the worst person I know
because I see shadows while they see light
or at least they hope to

I  want to love viciously
to ache for us to be selfish in our satisfaction
you to love the laugh I can put on your face
touching fingertips as we lay on the grass
I want to learn of your own destruction
and see that I am just a confused boy

you see i've learned
all the worst things about infatuation
the way her favorite color became mine
and how I remember
that
you are the craziest part of me

can we find ourselves resolute
in our own terrible ways
will you touch my hair and kiss me for being here
and will you sit next to me for every sunrise
we care to wake up for

I hold myself together for you
I wait so that you may find me
we can touch our hands just to make sure
that we are safe for each other

I wait for the rain to fall
so that we can run through
the world's sprinklers laughing
giving us an excuse to wear flannel
sitting close so that our legs may brush
a slight turn of the chin
may lead to a quiet kiss
while the drops patter across the earth

Maybe it was mountains
Instead we drank our way to something
Of bravado
Feats of intoxication
And instafame

Telling stories we’d lived
We thought they couldn’t be lived again
And so we stepped into our late 20’s
Hearing mirroring stories form our
Middle aged colleagues

When I stepped into a poetry class
I thought I had an edge
That i’d lived
That the love I’d lost was real enough
To be worth something

This was before Bukowski,
McCourt, Hamill

I have nothing unique to say
But still I say it
Because it finds its way out
Eventually

fingertips soft - pathetic
too sober for this
you coward
reach inside that
miserable soul
produce something
how else will
you be remembered but for
the words you spoke so
swiftly in passing
with acquaintances
also too sober to write
hashtags pouring in
like wine water
eat this jesus-bread
you heathen
get back on track
**** in your gut
for another round
and get that blood
on the page