Soft glow and saturation
make the dullest blues into
a steady walk, predictable,
cloudy like skies in February
and November, broken strings
on the head and into the coda.

Tracing trail maps with
fingers and bootsteps that
mud imprint the floormats
of your grandfather's gray
four-door with the cracked
windshield and long
scrapes down the sides.

Keep pace with the clicks
of fingernails on wound
nylon, don't fall to expected
declarations, don't let them
beat you to the top.

She wasn't sure what she
really loved until first
flight, when it became
clear that every experience
was available, that every
agent was awake and asking.

I watched her sip her coffee in a precarious
manner

She never held on to the handle because the
cup was her life
She didn’t wear her clothes out but rather,
her clothes wore her out

I professed my love to her and told her about
how she removed me from this planet and
reminded me that there are far worse,
mundane things in this world and she was
all that made me happy

And she responded with “okay, but you
know I won’t be coming back because
you’ve made me fathom an existence”

I don’t know what to buy nothing seems to
be enough for me

I think about all it took to get to that shelf in
the supermarket; all it took for them to place
that can of soda on a shelf

And then I thought to myself that the same
applies with everyone and everything

How is the twinkle in your left eyeball (the
one I’d stare at as you’d fall asleep to the
sound of my stories, the ones you didn’t
like) any different from the can of sardines at
your local supermarket

I propose that we are all products in an
increasingly capitalistic market

No one wants you in the end

You end up in someone’s cart for twenty
minutes

You take a ride; whilst suffocating in a
plastic bag

You are used and eaten and beaten

You are merely an item

And then you’re over

And then you are to be thrown away

Brought to a landfill

Buried

And finally you are to be forgotten

And the worst part is, that you thought that
you were special

I have already written about you in every obituary

You were only caught because of a drop of blood; your only life force has gotten you strapped to the electric chair yet you show no emotion; no remorse for years of thievery; you are the insecure narcissist that wallows in self pity and only comes out when there's a 2% chance of rain

I will always write about you; the schema, the concept, the idea of you

*You are the alibi for when my thoughts stray.

She said, "I don't think we should kiss. God is watching. And good girls don't kiss."
And I said, "Stupid girl, God doesn't have time for us."

And she got mad because I made the cross around her neck hurt
And she was sad because she spent all her Sundays in church praying to god that she'd be cleansed

But I stole that kiss and she asked that I wouldn't tell God and she cried because god doesn't hear her praying for him to cleanse her

Yet she didn't hesitate to kiss me; she forgot about her god, *******, yet I felt no guilt to take the cross off of her neck

She lost her necklace and stopped going to church but she still prays that someone will cleanse her

One who wears a seatbelt
Cannot claim to be unafraid of death