How awful it is to lay numb on your bed late at night & think about someone who isn't thinking about you.
How awful it is to dream about someone but wake up alone.
How awful it is to remember everything about someone who doesn't even remember your name.
How awful it is to write about someone who never wrote about you.
Awful, that's how it feels.
Wasted time, wasted years.
How awful it is to sit here and type your name but hitting the backspace button because typing your name gets me nowhere.
This poem is getting me nowhere, and that's an awful feeling.
But it is not as awful as thinking about you.

You are a rainstorm in an Arizona summer.
I don't know whether I should hide
Or bathe in you.

I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can **** me!"

the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.

well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.

the women of the past keep
phoning.
there was another yesterday
arrived from out of
state.
she wanted to see
me.
I told her
"no."

I don't want to see
them,
I won't see them.
it would be
awkward
gruesome and
useless.

I know some people who can
watch the same movie
more than
once.

not me.
once I know the
plot
once I know the
ending
whether it's happy or
unhappy or
just plain
dumb,
then

for me
that movie is
finished
forever
and that's why
I refuse
to let
any of my
old movies play
over and over again
for
years.

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

I didn't find you most beautiful
after all those hours you spent
on your makeup
or shaping your lovely hair
into its tiny strands.
or the outfits you wore
that hugged your frame
so eager to catch a hungry eye
I found you most beautiful
after the makeup
was smeared or washed away
your hair a mess from the long night
and your outfits nothing but balled up fabric
strewn across the room
and all those barriers you put up
for others
came crashing down
under the weight of your smile
thats when you were the most beautiful thing
I have ever seen.

You smell of ***** and strong drinks,
I realise, disregarding what she thinks,
I'm in love with her, deeply, stronger
than those beverages. I've been longer

than I'd like to admit. She's wild and
untameable, uncontainably pretty, beaches
with filth and stones instead of sand
on sweaty summer visits. It teaches

me to carefully enjoy instead of rushing.
I can't refrain myself from blushing,
but standing ground on not kissing,

because your state is not as in my dreams,
I, longing, desiring, have to keep missing,
your lips, my inner obese man's regimes.

i knew you were dangerous
but i'd never wanted to be    
in danger more than the
very moment i saw you.

S.W