Once in awhile
I feel inclined
To stay up all night
Writing stanzas like this.

And having drunk three
Shimmering tumblerfulls of
Self-doubting coffee
The prospect seems alive.

The longer I stay
Awake
The sooner I can
Reinvent myself.

My body is
Changing
And so is my
Soul.

And I'm beginning to see
Where I went wrong
In this world where I
Raised myself to be right.

However, if I stay awake
One cannot forget the issue of
Filled notebooks, attractive men
And tomorrow's frosted gaze.

Perhaps I will shower in
Whole-grain mustard at three a.m.

Tempted
I was tempted to
Walk away, to
Sit in this empty
Car, with rain on the windows
Forever.

But then the shocking
Confession was made for me
That I still sleep with a
Naked teddy bear and these
Archaic sheets of
Translucent obsessions.

I am not myself
Or a number on a scale
Or the lonely midnights
Drinking milkshakes in empty
Diners, alone but for
Those neon lights.

Those lonely midnights
That do not yet exist
And the vacant burns
Of vanity
Inscribed upon my
Favorite caveman.

I spent awhile
In a honey-barbeque
Chicken salad of
Cynicism.

And then one day
Instead of Frank
I was no longer Bryan
But a better version of my Mondays.

Or was it the
Lesser form a
Thursday takes
When you're alone?

I have a desire
Shaded in the glow
Of a stained glass
Display an hour away.

A wish, shrouded in
These filmy layers
Of forgotten words
And remembered sayings.

To be half of one
And twice of me
So I stopped seeing stars
And dropped the peace-sign for a dash.

Reinvented myself
To break all molds
And here I stand, slightly
More intact, I'm back.

Give me approximately
Seven seconds
To sit on
The universe.

It may take
A lifetime of walks
In green gardens.

Or perhaps ten years
Of white front
Porches.

But I will stand
Upon the red
Roof of this
Convertible.

Against the blue sky
And yellow tulips
These primary colors
Will be etched.

Etched
Not upon
May
But purely upon
The defeated
Twilight sky.

Lukewarm mugs of
Mocha
On papery thin
Napkins.

Warm cubes of
Sunshine
On honey wooden
Tables.

I swear my coffee
Never goes cold.

But this morning I found
You gone.

And there was a
Gray sky on the
Honey wooden table.

Only one cup of
Black coffee on a
Single stained napkin.

Because not just the coffee
No, the whole
Scene
Had gone cold.

Line up the
Bottles on your dresser
Ordered
And measured
Have the water
Lines gone down?

So much perfume
So little time
So much bodyspray, our
Well-scented crimes.

Can I smell
Better than the
Next girl?
Should today be
"Fruited Almond Flower Quell"
Or "Coconut Island Sugar Swirl"?

What does it matter?
Just bathe in it
There's always tomorrow for
"French Hibiscus Pomegranate".

Because we're all just
Femme fatales
Or maybe our nostrils
Can no longer smell.