The funding of my own little massacre,
my own precious little war crime. My smoke
is everywhere. My father coughs in his sleep.
My mother gags, hangs her head out the window, sick.

My cheap *** before and after cheap ***.
I chat up some high-waisted pastiche on Alberta.
She tells me collage this and that and looks
so lit up and skinny, it's a dream.

Where I go to brand myself. I have this image
of a spark on my arm sitting stovetop red,
sinking into the skin, losing color as it digs,
turning to grey and then nothing like the drowning
of a comet's tail in atmosphere. My burns look so good
in the pale dormitory bathroom shower light: so baby tulip
and teeth, so how-I've-made-it-through-the-wringer.
Christ, I should be a film, look at me: so bent and bright,
such a cute boxer, such a prize fight.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
Dry bones of Moses painted on my button down shirt screaming,
“to be or not to be” is not an English word.
In the daze of the thoughts of Neurology, I saw a man kick a bucket full of Starbucks giftcards down the avenue street. He screamed in pain as he watched the bucket tumble and roll down the street, blessing every Bohemian with a slight cold.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
I dreamt about a land before man where the Oxygen that sprang from the pores of flowers
sang a sweet death. Where dishwashers are saints, for afterall, man will not be if not for food.
Where books are written not to be read, but for the sake of Orange trees that will grow in the future.
I once wore a poker face to a funeral and laughed at the man in the casket because the souls he had underneath him were two left feet.

*We all once had naked pictures of God on our nightstands but lost it after Einstein  
Lost the fried chicken war of 1812 to Isaac Newton.

Judy sat
in one of the seats
in the pub garden
and spoke

of the university course
she was going for
in the late summer
and you sat opposite her

watching her as she spoke
taking in her blue eyes
and her little quaint nose
and her dark hair

held back
with blue ribbons
and you remembered
the kisses

of the evening before
while she waited with you
while you waited
for the bus back to town

and how that last kiss
was held by you
all the way home
and packed away

in the mind
in that part
you keep
for good moments

and she stopped talking
and sipped her Coke
and you said
you want to be a lawyer?

yes
she said
I’ve always wanted
to be lawyer

even as a little girl
and you tried
to imagine her
in wig and gown

in some high court
cross examining
some criminal
or maybe defending one

and she said
I got that parcel
you sent me
that Mahler 6th symphony

in the box
you smiled
you shouldn’t
waste your money

on me  
she said
I’m not worth it
of course you are

you replied
no I’m not
she said
but I love you

you said
I know
but although
I like you

I can’t  say
I love you
as easy as you
say you love me

and she sipped her drink
and you sipped your beer
and you wondered
if you would ever hear

her say the words to you
but she never did
and so at the end
of the year

after the Christmas gift
she gave you
and the farewell kiss
you never saw her anymore

some things you want
you can’t have
no matter how much
you adore.