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Your car
is my own personal
spaceship, hurtling
through galaxies --
billboard planets
and streetlight stars

The city
doesn't sleep
so much as it snores
this early in the morning,
piles of buildings
stacked together carelessly
across the skyline

My legs
curled beneath me,
an insect shriveling
back into her cocoon,
we don't speak
only discontinuing silence

You retreat
into your shell
before I can speak
a word of the truth
that is congealed
in my chest, a
cancerous mass
that is sure
to stop my breath

This night,
it hasn't broken me
so much as it has
brought me back to life,
soon I'll remember how
warm a person's eyes get
after they've been so cold
for such a long time

We whisper
under our breaths,
fumbling to connect
with sentences strung out
across a wire between
our ears, cans pressed tight

And now,
my house looming
before me, a
swirling black hole
that swallows me whole,
your headlights barely
a spark in the distance

I wish
more than anything
that I could follow you
back home, curl with you
until this ache has left
from my bones

But if I did,
I know it would be
different than we thought
Your quiet mouth would
change beneath mine
and I know, you would never
stop until you understood why

this blooming pressure
tears at my lungs
until I can breathe again
Desire woke,
carried football kisses
and barnyard blushes

The great American pastime,
getting ****** under the
bleachers with a towel spread
over the grass during the game

Voices rip through the halls
breeding rumors strong enough
to plunge shame so deep
into the heart of a person

that it may never crawl
back out through your throat,
the venom spewing from your lips
as dark as the blood spotted
on the backseat of your
father's car, that night

Through the cracks in the
armor, every girl carries this
burden in her chest: *** is shameful,
it's not to be talked about, and
there are boys out there who cannot
wait to take advantage of your
one warm and vulnerable heart

She found her own monster, one
with blue eyes and a blonde ponytail
like the cowboys in the movies, an Idaho
farm boy with hot breath like the smoke
of a gun, she gave him her secret when
she was fifteen and at night she screams

when she thinks of it, his ***** hands
and where he put them, lightning sparks of
the pain she can still feel, it sticks inside her
and twists, the wound growing larger
every day, she knows it will never leave,
her own ****** spot to carry

Patterns forever crawling up her spine
in the shapes of his fingers, and someday
when the one she loves drags his fingers there
she will never lose the memory of that night,
her promises to herself left broken and bleeding
on the mattress, her crime of passion shattered
in the wake of what she's done

Engulfed in shame like ink dripping dark
from her hair, she's ***** and she knows it,
she's filthy and she swears they can see it
in the bright ****** of day where she can't
hide from the pushing and the smile on his face
split wide, it's the Joker with his ****** grin

She spent years falling for wisps of dreams
she could never quite grasp, those fleeting Sundays
fuzzy outlines in her mind, lust comes with a price
she says, and she means it when she says that she
will never love again. It was a contest, who could go
the farthest without taking that final step.

She lost.
I saw the moon in February
it took me back to that
empty place
I had found in myself
Lapetus was holding my heart
tugging me further
and further
out
into the black,
into the arms of Jove
destiny was waiting for me there
or so I was told
my Valentine whispered star dust
something bright, airy
nothing I would ever want
that empty place was calling me again
in the back of my throat
an ember glowed,
Shining Father
I craved anything that might
steal away this hollow shell
what some named mortality
but there at my core,
my own Sun
my glossy solar system
I could still feel a dull pulse
lunar hands enveloping my heart
tugging me further
and further
out
into the fields of Capitoline Hill,
into the beak of a great marble Eagle
he was waiting for me there
or so I was told
I would rather sit back and watch Scrubs than go out tonight.

throw my hair in a bun, put on my glasses and read to my lover.

press my cold toes into bare shins
I want to interlock fingers.
sit back-to-back and guess which knee he has cradled to his chest.

I want life to be simply complicated.

forget how many seconds make up an ounce.
I want hours to be measured in irrational numbers.

making shadow puppets on our naked chests,
we make breathing look like an art form.

knotted ribs and hip bones

...

that's all we really are.
my life is beautiful, not realistic.
yesterday, i arrived on neptune
wearing big boots and dignity
the horizon was a nightmare of question marks
and gloomy witches;
i escaped from the religious enema and
pegged a choir boy on my way out.
i am no longer a pygmy goat on a foolish leash,
i take my paranoia seriously.
my journals guide me to a ruptured corpse,
never censored.
i have the ability to be given away on a whim,
but i am becoming a famous soldier, an intoxicating
ghost of dogma.
my dreams are beautiful, not realistic.
hallelujah, the hobos are wearing bathrobes,
the ****** pillheads are anointed with ****** and sewer cleaners.
i see a goblin grave advertised by
luscious lips and fishlike shoulders.
the texture of my dream is kaleidoscope and silver,
haunted by a fat sherriff who cuts the throat of the jukebox queen.
i have a personal god, and on her i bestow this passionate kiss,
i have a favorite enemy, with no goals and without ambition.
im sorry, i don't know any happy songs,
only the movement of her young sensitive thighs and
a nymph with an hourly rate.
i am a buffoon with a blugeoned harmonica and
weapons of sugar.
my life is beautiful, not realistic.
In my life story you'd be the heroine.
You'd have chapters devoted to your hip bones,
And verses about your scent.
I'd write run-on sentences about the musical notes of your laughter
And paragraph after paragraph about the way you looked first thing in the morning.
I'd invent new poetic devices to describe the feel of your skin against mine.

In your life story I'm a sentence, the bare minimum.
I'm addacticed to her.
 Jan 2012 Cary Fosback
Ruby Flynn
and i will give him what's mine,


in his eyes there is a cure
to all the troubles in this world.
we walk humbly every night
seeing no one in our path.
with an effort to feel
the pairs of eyes staring at our backs.
there's a body burning underneath our
skin, any feeling of order is fading away.
Your smile
tastes of mint smoke.
It’s refreshing
against the taste of my tears
and the drink you gave me
to stop them.
Your eyes
trace their way down
my body
seeing
knowing
touching
every little sweet spot
long forgotten.
Your hands
melt into mine;
a connection revisited.
And for a moment
I see in your gaze
that (love lust longing) we shared.
I blink
and it is gone
in the moonlight
and blinking light
from your clock.
So I close my eyes
and let the smell of tobacco
in your hair
and the smile against my lips
bring me
to a dark connection
I know far too well.
We can be together.
Just one more time.
Just for tonight.
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