I
will
never
forget
the
time
you
bought
me
orchids.

Tonight I am missing:

the attention
that comes along
with I love you

the smell
of his neck

and the strength
to get over it.

I've never been impressed
with a member of
the opposite ***'s
Member ever since
I was six years old.
It was just a hunk
of soft skin that I never
liked to keep my hands on
for longer than
ten agonizing seconds
but I had to do it
twice because it wasn't
right the first time.

If he knew
my first love
my first kiss was
My First Cousin
he'd never touch me
Again
And again and again.
Come on, baby, you can do it.

It never ends.
It's cyclical.
I haven't said a word
all day because if I opened
my rouged mouth
I'd moan for
Sorrow and Pleasure.
Those weepy, little *******
go hand in hand,

Don't they?

The room starts to spin
and there's not enough
gin to get the taste
from my mouth
of your slobbery,
miserable kiss.
Too much.
Too much gin
too much love
too much of a terrible thing
can be detrimental to
the objective.
To survive.
To overcome.
It's hard to do when I'm
the reigning Queen of Crazy.

I loved him once.
I loved him and would do
anything for him,
but now I can't be in a room
alone with him
without wanting to
throw up
and up
and up
and up.
Please, God,
let me pass out before I can feel.

Will it ever stop
raining? The streets are flooded
and so is my heart.

I walked down my front steps
this morning on a
sweltering January Wednesday,
and across the street
a mean hawk
had in its grip a truly unremarkable
run-of-the-mill pigeon.
I couldn't tell if the bird was dead yet
but something told me
there was a life yet to be fully realized,
so I made sure not to get run over
while crossing the street.
When I got too close that feathered dinosaur
squawked at me
for interrupting his breakfast,
but his breakfast was still alive,
and I couldn't sleep at night
knowing this.
The hawk cursed me one more time
but I had taken a step too far.
He let the poor thing go and
I have never seen any living animal
fly so fast in 22 years.
It was something like watching
a man being chased by another man
with a chainsaw,
the anticipation and uncertainty
of whether or not
Herr Hawk caught up
with the unlucky *******.

I've never eaten a salad so fast
as when my best friend and I
went to a restaurant where
a man with one leg
and a loud voice
squawked about
something artistic,

and since I'm still a little girl
in body, soul and mind
I sit on my feet.

My friend and I stopped talking
about something artistic as well
and listened to them.

"I gotta take a ****,"
said the one-legged man,
and though my back was turned to him,
I could hear how tall and broad he was.
As he passed me-
that's how I saw his one leg-
he stopped at my table,
noticing my insecurities
and said,

"I wish I could still sit on my legs like that.
Hey get a load of this,"
he said to his friend with
blue eyes and no teeth.
"hah," said his comrade
and the one legged man
hobbled off to take a ****,
I guess,
but now I'm left wondering

Did he mean before he lost his leg
or before he was that small?
I thought it was a relevant question.