Getting pretty for no one.
Standing in
the bathroom mirror
and the clock
ticks backwards.
Mascara smears
on painted hands and
that hair
will never
shine
so bright as it does
as on top of a cold city.

High in a penthouse
but, still
no one
can sing the sky to sleep
the way you
used to.

So,
Let’s continue to pretend
we are people
we are not,
wearing clothes that don’t fit
and tucking our wings
into our suits.

Cash register chimes
same beat
every time
and my hands are full.

I owe ten cents
and the Invisible Creator
calls for a price check.

Out to the car and tonight
where you stand
with many different someones,
but I can taste your stares on my almost empty bottle.

I don’t happen to meet your arms goodbye.

He asks her in a whisper
“What makes people beautiful?”
and she can’t say.

We see it where his jaw
meets his neck and makes
a long shadow.

Invisible except for the way
her hand drags each finger
through hair, behind an ear.

But that’s not a real answer.

Mirrors look back in lies while
scientists probe our souls
to find where they reside.

People wrapped together
in a present for each other
answer with a smile.

Stars blink their tired eyes at me
for the first time in a long time.

A looping chorus ribbons through my ears making music through my hair carried by the wind.

Eyes closed, nose breathing,
my smile laughs for me
while I swallow air.

Dizzy heads come faster two-thousand feet above sea level,
with conversation catching up quickly.

There's a picture of you on the back of my eyelids
so I grin when I blink.

The wall of the supermarket entryway
tells the story of how a housewife got a part-time job
 to save up enough money to run away.

She needs an accomplice 
watching her kids
from eight a.m. to three p.m. 
every day
besides Sunday.

Little bombs go off in the background while

patriotic cupcakes
make their escape
past the stories with 
tabs torn off.

No cars turn left 

when the memories of our forefathers 
light up the sky.



We can smell independence a day after.

Riches in
Fifty-cent flying saucer vending machines
I got a ring
and a note from the future you
explaining that everything will be okay.

Only three windows open
and everyone is smiling about it.

This road has no lights.
My hair is in my mouth, past
empty parking lots
Let's be quiet for this song.

Fellow puddle jumpers of the world,
gather your
sidewalk worm armies
and meet me for hot cocoa.

Tonight is the battle
of getting it wrong.

Tonight we fail
the wrong tests.
Tonight we kiss
the wrong person.
Tonight we go to sleep on
the wrong side of the bed.

Ghandi said
"Be the change you want to see in the world,"
so we will be them all
and ring in walking pockets.

Tonight we have a big enough gut
to swallow the world
and stomach it all

Because if we fall asleep
on the wrong side,
we don't have to wake up on it.