I would
I wish
I could
I must

I cannot.

Though, if not,
may I have only
this last glance?

Glimpses into dual starlight, twinkling
milky effervescence with
rings

Of infinite, sonorous brown, towards
deep black holes which
cling,
        
To these imagined night skies,
          I utter my utter soft words
The sun in my closed eyes,
          I dream a dream of stars and hurt


Your skies have met my eyes.

here's how it happens
the morning after
you reach into the drawer
where the your t-shirts live
to find it austere
you'll shrug because
you're still drunk
& you can't remember
when last it was
that you had something wet
or how long it's been
since you made the floorboards blush
or why the carpet is upset
who wouldn't be
the contents to the upended ashtray
strewn around the apartment
resemble the aftermath
of the smallest war
to ever take place in norfolk
some midnight thief
must've made off with the lighter
because it isn't in
any of your favorite spots
maybe you chucked it
along with a hundred other things
that make noise when they land
in the neighbors yard
you won't remember putting
the refrigerator's belongings
in the bathtub
or scrawling a buzzard
on the bedroom door
but then again who would
you'll pretend it's spring again
before putting on your winter coat
to go out front with a cigarette
in your mouth
you'll hope for a passing stranger
to *** a light from
or drag yourself to the corner
with couch cushion change
to buy a new lighter
and on your way
you won't bother looking back
this is just another day
on eggshells for no reason
another november
choking on birthday candles
on your way home
you step over beer cans
the kind you fell in love with
and wonder who
had the last laugh last night
or if anyone said a word at all
it might've been another
moment of clarity
it might have been some idiot savant
any adjective that feels like home
anything that keeps you thirsty

If tomorrow was that yesterday,
or that morning
came tonight
if for a moment you could have listened
if you didn't always have to be right

if she realized the words  
Get out
really meant
You’d love her help
if you swallowed more than pills
or thought about
more than just yourself

but yesterday left in a sunset
obscured
by a cloud of pride
and for tomorrow
it’s still not too late
but you're running out of time

The scene is a certain school courtyard, full of certain adolescents. Boys and girls are criss-crossing haphazardly and are bustling about, caught up in their respective little lives. They go in, out, from and to their tiny and certain daily adventures.

A certain boy and a certain girl look at each other as they walk; their eyes meet.


CERTAIN BOY:

When I look at a girl in the eyes, I imagine both of our lives up until the singular moment of iris and iris, me and her. I imagine us somewhere in the beginning of a little chick flick movie of sorts.  Or the starting line of a flowery poem. Or the prologue of some great literary novel... Though that moment of pupil and pupil is the first ****** in our mini romantic comedy.

I can see the whole story being laid out:

The nervous greeting, the fruitful giggling, the blossoming smile. Then the shy hand-holding, warm hugs, the sweet first kiss, the ***** grab and tag and rustle in whatever shadowy make-out spot in the school. Followed by commitment, sentiment,  "I like you"s , "I need you"s,  "I miss you"s, "you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life and I don't wanna lose you"s and finally- "I love you"'s.

And then of course the inevitable bored, lifeless, un-innovative, sad, miserable, heartbreaking and mundane conversations that happen once the mysterious honeymoon period disappears. The under-appreciation and the desperation and perhaps some cheating, but more likely to be found is loneliness.

This then ends in a 'break' or break-up, which are essentially the same thing.

However that may not be the end just yet, they might just get back together. Maybe. Maybe not. But no one has that much time to worry so... On to the next big thing.

But-

I can already see that whole story being laid out:

The nervous greeting, the fruitful giggling, the blossoming smile. Then the shy hand-holding...


CERTAIN GIRL:

Why... why is he looking at me like that?


End of scene.

I been scarred and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
   Snow has friz me,
   Sun has baked me,

Looks like between 'em they done
   Tried to make me

Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
   But I don't care!
   I'm still here!

2 and 2 are 4.
4 and 4 are 8.

But what would happen
If the last 4 was late?

And how would it be
If one 2 was me?

Or if the first 4 was you
Divided by 2?