you break and slither
out onto the antiseptic
tile floor
bathing in the
residue of the
the hundreds of billions
that came before you
you **** and spit on
your mother's ****
till you're unhappy
in an underpaying career
with an unloving wife
under your pastor
at 3 am
this is what you've been
programmed for
this is what you get
a world full of
unholy *******
clammering for salvation
with each ******
into your woman's ******
you slipped out a month too soon
they always tell you
--oh, you were just so excited
to meet us! and we were so happy
to have you, my dear--
broke free of the *******
that gave you life
into the ones that
take it away
call it a **** miscarriage
we're all miscarriages
one day or another
some just suffer
and **** a little
more than others
and you want that month back
more than anything
while the reverend is pumping
the holy spirit into the mother
of your nobody children
and this is where we are
this is what we come to
slithering on the tile floor
in the wastes of everyone
else and everyone after
playing patty cake
with the other corpses
till you're home early from work
walking into the guest bedroom
shotgun in hand, just to
split two shells between yourself
and the holy ghost

trapped in old memories
and teases of a future
that exists only in
the deepest of sleep
trapped in the torture
of a poison that boils
in the blood
and sends shivers
down the length of
my spine
you lay on the bed
with unloving eyes
and unfeeling hands
even as they caress
my neck and down
my jawline
you plant your thumb
on my lower lip
and there is a flicker
of an old life
passing before my eyes
but you remove your hand
until the smoldering remnant
of a doused flame
is gone from the tip
of my tongue

it's sad how desperate we
all become
for a taste of
that poison

there was an old woman
who stood waiting
for her husband
of 52 years to pick her up
by the bus stop that I used
close to where I lived
in Philadelphia
she worked as a teacher at
the elementary school
a few blocks away
we would chat as
I waited for the 3:35 bus
even if it rained she would
stand their with her
blue umbrella and
her blue rain boots
and she had this wonderful
smile
the ones reserved for old ladies
who saw everyone younger
as grandchildren of their own
and the husband would meander
up the road in his '97 Lincoln
as I'd be getting on the bus
and I would watch him kiss her
on the cheek like he'd done
for 52 years and
she would smile as
I rode away

one rainy day
I came down
but the old lady
must have been picked
up by her loving husband
already because I didn't see
her by the stop
I got on the bus
and there she was
sitting

been running a lot recently
and got a nice girl
in a nice place
she keeps me warm at night
in these harsh winter
snows
but I've been running
to stay in shape
to outrun anything
that's coming
and the girl is great
a real gem
she deals with my
******* with
minimal complaint
handles it very well
but doesn't really understand
why I run
she's a ******* saint
but I still run every day
feels good for the soul
and the girl
she tells me she loves me
tells me she's so glad we
can stay together
so happy in love
and I keep running

I was on the train and two
little boys were playing a
board game with these
little trinkets
they would roll the dice
and scream and scream
peals of laughter that
dashed and echoed
up and down the
cars of the train

I didn't mind the little kids
laughing and laughing
it had a nice sound as
I lost my thought out the window
into the wilderness
I didn't mind them
even though their father
--seated in the row
behind--
smacked them upside the
head a few times
nice and good
after that they were
quiet for awhile
and I saw a small
path cutting away
through the trees
and wondered where it led

then the kids started
telling secrets into
each others ears
and my vision zoomed
back in from the immensity
of the universe back
to the train car
where they'd lean in and
whisper profound
equations to life and
happiness and secrets of
an upmost importance
told strictly in the highest confidence
then scream and scream with laughter
only to stifle it hurriedly
with a quick glance to the
row behind them

he only shook his head
and smiled

Look at you
standing there;
fumbling at the clasp
of your bra,
stripping down
to the core,
hoping I see you,
hoping I save you,
as if I'm the
cure for
who you've become.
You plead with me
--breath of a cheap,
distilled liquor--
to let you stay.
You ask me if I
think you're pretty.
Sure, I respond,
sure you're pretty.
Hell I haven't met
many naked women
standing in my
bedroom who aren't.
But I can't save you.
I'm not the one who
will keep you honest.
I'm not the one to kiss
you on the head
and tell you goodnight.
Sure you're pretty, and
sure I'll *******, baby,
but I'm not sure
if I can fix you.

they always had
something a little off
beautiful women
just always with something
I couldn't get over
I've been finding
flaws in my women
all my life
one a little thin
a few were too fat
too long
too short
too loud
too shy
hands were too big
one that wore
too much makeup
--one with
never enough--
no matter how I tried
I couldn't find that
perfect woman
no matter how
beautiful my friends
assured me they were
I just couldn't be
content
so the flings were short
and soon I'd be fed up
with their hands
too big
or their teeth
too yellow
or their voices
too shrill
got rid of them all
every last one of them
until I realized
that all these women
were fine
all of them
beautiful women
it was I who
had the problem

the writing and the women
tend to conflict
there is a solemnity
to the poetics
that the women don't
appear to understand
they curl their paws
under my door like
cats scratching to
get in
to get me out
to play
but all I want to
do is finish this novel
to enjoy a quiet evening
without having to
burden myself with
any other's emotions
how did Byron do it?
he played the game quite well
balancing the pen and the act
keeping smiles up for the vultures
till he could write all about them
behind closed doors
how did you do it?
didn't they just drag
on you like nails
on a chalkboard?
didn't they talk and talk
and feast on your attentions
like vultures to fresh ****?
I can't stand it
how did you do it, Lord?
so hard to resist
yet so hard to put up with
Lord Byron, I envy
your balancing act

look at the
corpses
waiting to die
wanting?
they conspire
in dark corners
to eradicate themselves
build and build
just to burn it down
look at the corpses
praying for sleep
paying?
with the chemicals
that burn them
inside out
look at the corpses
look at the corpses
skipping around
in the sunlight
shooting up to
the stars
only to come home
to an empty reality
sin spread out
across the species
watch them jump
toward the grave
watch! watch!
the corpses
waiting to die
as interesting as
a flash of lightning
a quick curiosity
until they burns themselves
out to the nothingness
they once were

Left me in the lobby
of your apartment building
for hours,
drunk--
spitting insults
at the doorman--
till you salvaged
enough pity to
let me in.
You were
getting ready for bed,
I was on the couch,
while you shook
your head
in the sink.
"The worst
relationship with a man
I've ever had,"
you said,
"you don't even
listen to me."
Oh, sweetheart, I do,
I hear every word.
Especially the ones
carved out of that
insurmountable anger
and regret.
I hear them.
I see them etched
into your features,
dipping between
your dimples,
and pouring out
of the tears that
slipped so fiercely
down the drain.
That anger was so
volatile
I thought you'd **** me
then and there.
However, you merely
turned your head
and slammed the door.
And we may make it
through this, but that
anger is still down there
somewhere, waiting.

I never knew how
violent someone
could be just
brushing their teeth.

when I was young
I wanted to fall in love
wanted to feel something
special with someone
and to be a rock star
and to travel the world
but now reality
has punched me in the gut
and dragged me through
the twelfth round
I have come to a different
truth
I wake up every morning
to the same sun
but I **** women to not
feel a thing
I demoted from
rock star
to poet,
and moved to
Philadelphia
from Florida
and hate it
here

We were in middle school.
After the pre-algebra
exam we learned how
the body worked.
You took me into the
gymnasium and took that
left turn into the bathroom,
blew me
till your mother came
and picked you up
in her red sedan.

Then we were in high school,
and you ****** to fit in.
The drugs were
part of that too,
I suppose.
We weren't too close,
but I saw you
night after night,
making friends
in all the wrong ways.
Look how popular
you became.

Never went to college.
I don't know where
you ended up,
to be honest,
but you were a beautiful girl
with a beautiful spirit,
not like the shallow girls you
disguised yourself with.
There aren't many of you left
I'm afraid

I still think about you
and that day
after pre algebra.
--you got an A on that exam
I don't know if you remember--
Sad to think about.
I hope you're doing alright.
I hope life has you somewhere
the weather's warm,
and the sky is blue,
and the men are less
cruel than we were.

winter is coming again
feel it in the bones
as you light another cigarette
******* you should kick the habit
******* you should settle down
focus on your studies
and not on the vultures
that fly in and around you
trying to get warm in this cold air
can you see them circling now?
if only they weren't so tantalizing
if only they weren't so persistent
so keen on the feast
all bundled up in those cute
scarves and jackets and boots
how do you resist?
how do you resist these
eyes like razorblades
and talons
and teeth?
you don't
you let them tear
you apart with
every glance
with every smile
winter is coming
and everyone feels it
all you do is light
another cigarette
and try not to look up

for awhile
the women would
tell me I didn't
smile the same anymore
they would say I was unhappy
they'd ask me what was wrong
day in and day out
they'd ask
baby what's wrong?
why don't you laugh
anymore?
why don't you play
anymore?
it was consistent
and drove me crazy
I'm fine
I told them
I'm fine
but they kept asking
sweetie what's the matter?
don't you enjoy me anymore?
aren't you glad to see me?
for weeks this went on
and eventually
I began to believe them
is there something wrong?
am I secretly depressed?
I started trying to laugh
and smile
even when it wasn't necessary
and it worked
the women stopped
asking me how I was
stopped seeing if I was ok
and eventually stopped
seeing me
at all and
now there really is
something wrong

I heard some neighbors
down the hall
talking about how
morale is low
and rent is high
but it can't be all bad
with wine in
my glass
and women
in and out my door
it can't be all bad
when they burst with
such a beautiful thrill
their anger
their slammed doors
their clenched fists
it can't be all bad
when they keep
me up all
hours of the night
with echoes of
love I never felt

morale is low
and the rent is high
they said
and maybe they're right
--the rent sure has me
by the throat--
but the wine still pours
night after night
the women still come and
the women sure as hell
still go
but that's the beauty of it
you can't hold on
too long
no no no
never too long
just glimpses at
a time
and all you can
really do is
just pour another glass
because it can't be all bad
can it?

here is a story for you:
a man grew up
got old
got married
got divorced
never fell in love
never went to jail
never skipped work
never got too drunk
had a stable
mental health record
and wrote perfectly bland
poetry for a sweet fee
to feed his two children
until he put a bullet 'tween
his brain and theirs
one boring summer evening

The dress left little to dream, a stained red
her sable hair veiled a porcelain skin.
A body well-toned to beauty's visage,
clinging to its youth in gentle fervor.
She danced with eyes, aloof of the madness
She danced with lips, a smile never faded.

The night felt as if it never faded,
despite that coming sunrise colored red.
With it comes a certain kind of madness:
that furtive creep and crawl under the skin,
that dark attacks all good sense with fervor,
silent beneath a cool and calm visage.

How I gazed on her elegant visage!
How she seemed to glow and never faded!
That way she danced, enthralled in sweet fervor,
twisting, turning hips below a flash of red.
How I wished a taste of that supple skin!
Temptation leading, leaning toward madness.

How hard it may prove to resist madness,
quick, short glances break a stoic visage.
The blood runs warm beneath my pale, clenched skin.
The space around her blurs, faces faded,
till nothing exists but that flaming red.
Hands convulsing in maddening fervor.

The hotel room shakes, same violent fervor,
With naught to do but give in to madness.
The bets are all off when the bull sees red!
Screams painted mute on smile-less visage.
All drowned out, all of everything faded
aside from the taste of porcelain skin.

The sheets peeled off slowly like shedded skin.
Quiet specimen, amidst the fervor,
lays unmoving on the mattress, faded,
left without signs of receding madness.
Sunrise reflected on a still visage:
Smooth porcelain, white now shadowed in red.

That desire for ripe skin, the madness
built in fervor, broke sanity's visage.
Till the smile faded, the dress stained red.

You find yourself alone at last
amongst the masses.
Out where the sunset sits
cross-legged in the sky,
staring downward through
the evening.
Such beautiful backdrop
for such ugly company,
all of it painted on canvas;
ochres, violets, varying
shades of autumn gray.
Find yourself bummed out
on the side of the curb,
sharing insults
with the passing traffic.
Even the devil has company,
but here you are alone,
sharing cigarettes and
cheap conversation with
the cement.

Night comes without urgency
and you are left in it;
bad breath and
a dense, colored
evening air that
burns the lungs
with coming winter.

The pub sign down the road
leans out from her window,
peering scornfully down
through her thick, iron grates.
Red and blue lights
blink disapproval against the pavement.
But maybe that rough pavement
can almost feel sweet
to the touch.
Maybe that rough pavement
can be soft; a woman's curve,
if you get it just right.
The old beer bottle
leans in and tells
you a terrible secret
before putting his cap
back on, strolling
off into that setting sun.
Skipping rocks
off an ocean of rubble
and asphalt
before they careen
into the grass.

Even the devil has company,
but sometimes it is
not so bad to be alone.

the picture was pixelated
you told me
it didn't print the way you
wanted it to
wasn't fully in focus
--I guess in retrospect
it's fitting--
but I wanted you to go back
and reprint it
I was afraid you'd just
throw it away
I was afraid you'd never
frame it
afraid you'd never
place it at your bedside
afraid you would never
let it be as beautiful as
we both knew
that picture was

you didn't reprint it
it was stuck being blurred
said you didn't mind
and you still framed it
you still placed it there
by your bedside
seems ironic now
with both picture and
frame broken
tucked under
some box in a closet
that I was the one
who was afraid

across from me
I see something
it is blurry
and sometimes
changes
but I want it
it is beautiful
I know
I feel it in
my bones
I used to know
what it was
but its definition
is lost on me now
however I know
I need it
it sends me shivers
that it's so close
but what is this
beautiful thing?
why is it here?
across from me
but never coming
any closer
then suddenly
there's
a finger across
my cheek
a thumb edging
the corner of my mouth
I think wiping away
a small dab of mustard

love exists

its all just waiting to fall
it's a castle built on sand
waiting for high tide
it's all tipped toward the precipice
you sit in your chair
and you don't understand
how close the madness is
it looms in every temptation
places bets on every fight
pulls at you
drags you under
the girl is gone
the money is gone
not that it was ever here
but the madness looms
closer now closer now
let that tide wash you
into the sea
let it fall
it says
let it all come undone
she's gone she's gone
she's never coming back
think about it
all those other guys
think
their hands their breath
their teeth
she's never coming back
but I'm here, my friend
I'm here
you can't sleep
you're pulling out your hair
up every night
staring holes into
the plaster
but I'm here, my friend
consuming you
ripping open every atom
of your being
screaming
balling up in your fists
until one night you're
drunk and
you're crazed with
it all
and you'll be everything
you never wanted to be
standing alone in the room
spinning without movement
eyes wide and bleary
someone walks in
asks what's wrong
what will you say?
what will you do?

you deserve this

you lay in bed next to me
with an anger uncontainable
you look into my eyes
with a hatred
inconcealable
you smile in my direction
but the dimples in your cheeks
never crease
like they used to
they called it love
they called it beautiful
all the things I grew up
waiting for
evolved to this
you were the culmination
of my childhood dreams
all the chapter books
with the hero and the princess
all the movies with the two
misguided kids finding
each other
you were the culmination
of everything I needed
all the one night stands
with women who never
got it the way you did
never saw me
the way you did
you were the trojan horse
that brought the walls to shambles
and left me crashing down
in the middle
of it all
an amazing fall
but we both know
the ground
hurts
and we both know
that movies are just
actors with a script
and books are
edited and rewritten
I thought I saw it
in those dimples
in those eyes
but now
you lay in bed next to me
and the sorrow
is unimaginable

prendi quello che ti ami
e bruciarlo basso

take what you love
and burn it down

some of them are
prettier than the others
and some hurt more than
the others
some of them
stick around too long
and others never
long enough
but they all leave
eventually
and when that door closes
I'm back here again
spitting poison
at an empty page
hoping my loneliness
will at least
get me rich
someday

I was on the
down and outs
no money
no girl
and she was
empty as
my wallet
slightly crazed
with a cute face
and the *** was
loud
and distracting
for awhile
but it was empty
too

and I started to
wonder if
this was it
if this was where
all those valiant
dreams of chivalry
and white knights
ended up
in the back of
her two door volvo
pacing thrusts
with the radio

I got out of there quick
told her to find a nice
boy with a nice house
and a nice dog
told her to quit smoking
that pack a day
told her to go back to school
told her a hundred things
she never heard

so now I'm on the
down and out
with no money
no girl
and no ***

here's to chivalry

the siege begins again
as it has and is and always will
stay inside the castle walls
there's no need for this
we shall build and rebuild
the bastion
these walls shall never fall
after the last
swore they
would never be
breached again
swore none would
come close

but here we are

they surround the palisade
they tempt you with gifts
and batter you with armaments
they fly different flags
and different banners
they carry different faces and
different names
but always the
same catapults
the same battering rams
laying siege with their
sharp tongues
and gilded hands
come to burn
come to plunder
come to take everything away

for days and weeks
the siege continues
tearing at these walls
you worked so hard
to build
and rebuild
but you're tired
you are so tired!
of fighting
of tending to the wall
why not let loose the gates
and allow entrance once more
don't let those thoughts consume you
you can't let them in
they'll burn you down
they'll burn you down
they'll steal you away
and ruin you
you can't let them in
you can't
fall for that 
trojan horse
again

open window
curtains lay adrift
in the thickening
evening air
betraying
dimmed light
bleeding in
from the window

pillow slipped
toward the bed
--in stillness now--
against my
ached hands
which came away
looking red
in dying
sunlight

there's nothing left
there's no other side
there's no next time
there's only this 20 years
past
and the next 20 years
and hopefully the
next
*******
what have I done
this life burns
in the saddle
I can feel it
but the horse
won't stop
won't turn around
and people say
you're young
you're whole life
is ahead of you
but that horse
won't stop
won't turn around
get me out of the saddle
please
******* please
someone help
I can't do this anymore
get me out of here
you're young
till you're old
till you're dead
and then you're
nothing
but fodder for
the worms
this horse won't
stop
won't turn around
hell he won't even
slow down
he's a stubborn *******
and soon
fodder for the worms
and those flowers
that bloom every
spring
for this 20
and the next
and the next

This is Icarus drowning:
wings once held up
now weight,
burdened toward
the bottom of the sea.
A father stands
alone
on destined shores,
words of warning
having left lips
now echoed empty
against the current.
And the sun
is evil only in apathy
if not in deed
smiling still
upon us all.

This is Icarus drowning:
hopes once held up
now weight,
burdened downward
toward that eager end.
Daedalus stands alone
at a funeral,
silent on distant shores,
with only the
current's whisper
as a eulogy.

The sorrow
of a world
is none to a father
lost of a son.

into the trees
the grass
the whole world
around us

you could see it
if you cared to look
though I don't suppose
you do

love is a poisonous
thing
I understand your
hesitation

it is killing off the flowers
and the
animals are all off
away in hiding
I understand your hesitation

but it bleeds out
now
faster now than ever
before

flowing freely
into the leaves
of the trees
and the blades
of the grass

the reds and the browns
the oranges and the yellows
screaming out against the green
fighting and flailing to stay afloat
as weather sweeps it all away
shouting into the nothingness
of the coming winter that

I am falling in love

you could see it
if you cared to look

either way
the love is bleeding out

and autumn has arrived

she slept with a lot of
men she had said
most she didn't remember
and didn't care to
love is a complex useless
ugly thing
she had said
but ***?
*** is beautifully simple
absolute physical pleasure
in the purest and dirtiest
ways at the same time
--she loved how ***** it was
said that *** was meant to be
rough and savage--
I slept with her too
a few times and
I can't lie
she knew
her way around
and she made me
more than a little nervous
but I was young
and confident
and eager to please
so I ****** her
and a week or so later
I did again
and soon I agreed
when she said
*** can be perfect
and simple
when left there
and I agreed when she said
it's only love that makes
such an ugly mess of things
and when you have
both love and ***
one normally ruins
the other

but I grew up
and moved away
never had contact
with her
met multiple women
but I was never nervous
like I was with her
I never found that
simplicity

I'll never forget
that *****
and her
utilitarian
****** philosophy
with her ***** but
somehow beautiful mind
and ***** but somehow
beautiful body
I've fallen in and
out of love since
those days
--mostly out--
so it seems that
I only continue to
prove her right
wherever she is

and she was there
California wasn't for
her
--and neither
was he
apparently--
said she was there
two months before
she realized he didn't
love her
and another one
before she
caught the
other woman
and the next day
she was on a
flight back east
day after that
she was on my
doorstep

--"I know I should've
called but I figured I
might as well just
come by and see
you in person
I was hoping we could
stay together again
oh I've missed you
and oh I'm so very lonely
it'll only be for a little while
I'll cook for you and clean
for you and we can
make beautiful love
on the kitchen counter
like we used to"--

like a kid who runs away
with no regret
believing the grass is greener
only to return
teary eyed and pleading
three months later

the dilemmas love
places upon us are
amazingly difficult
as the heart and the
head battle for supremacy
and the pride you
hope to retain is
swallowed
by a love that
left you out to dry

at least I have the kitchen counter

there were old men
laying around the
pool
like cigarette butts
in an ashtray
burnt out and
diminishing as
their feet
dangle in the water
lapping up against
their knees
they talked about
the old war
the good war
back in a time when
there was war to
believe in
now what?

now they have their
feet in a pool
fat white skin
burning in the moonlight
while knobby knees
are canvas to varicose
veins and the occasional
scar

--oh this one from
surgery, this one
from a foxhole
dug out some
hillside near Salerno
sliced up the
side of my leg
nice and good, yessir,
killed the
**** guinea
though don't worry--

and they would hold
out their arms
to explain how
they held those old
standard issue springfield's
while arthritis shook
that imaginary
rifle to the point
of danger but
they never noticed
leaning in to stare down
the sights
aiming carefully at
some elusive
foe across the pool

they would laugh at
how much they hated those
guns
they would laugh at
the insanity of it all
how young they had been
how old they were now
how much had changed
and how much hadn't
their wives were all gone
left widowed or divorced
all it seemed they had
was Tunisia or
Italy or that French
beach early morning in
1944

the world is a battlefield
for old men
with no
weaponry but old
stories caked in dust

you were merely
a passing fancy
a nice bouquet
in the front
window
of a flower shop
I enjoyed you
I employed you
while you
were fresh
while you were new
but wilting is inevitable
even the freshest flower
turns to dust
eventually

and that good side
you told yourself
that you saw in me?
a magnificent lie

so please stop
with the poems
keep me out of it
I don't need the attention

I'm not here to be
your friend
I'm not here to be
a good guy

I'm sorry

the past is a pitiful thing
it can consume you
if you let it
it can tear you open
and bear those
terrible secrets
you buried
to the world

the past is a pitiful thing
it can let loose
the animal
that hides
deep under
the skin
clawing
at the insides
of your mind

the past is a pitiful thing
a cross on your back
that breaks you down
vertebrae by vertebrae
ball and chain
dragging you under
holding you
until you cannot breathe
anymore

the past is a pitiful thing
because you are there
and you will never
be in my
future
again

the past is a pitiful thing
eating me alive
bleeding me out
from underneath

the past
is a
pitiful
thing
I am consumed
piece by piece
as I add
another link
to the chain
another weight
to the cross
I slowly fall
under

Having *** in
a car is the most
dispassionate
of locations.
You drive up late,
wait on the curb
for her to sneak
out past her
overprotective and
well intentioned parents.
She gets in,
keep the music high
and the voices low,
any conversation at
this point is
simply to break
the slight awkwardness
of what you both know
is about to happen.

Park in a
shady lot
with no light posts.
You can see an
elementary school
down the street,
buses and pick up lanes,
in a few hours they
will scamper around
like rats
but tonight there
are no witnesses.
Tonight there is nothing
but the back seat
you climbed into,
music still loud enough
to dissuade
any personalization
of the situation.
It is ***** and cheap.
--a personal
preference--
She is nothing but a
quick fix.
She gets on top,
moans a little
as you slide in.
The seatbelt buckle
digs deep into your
back,
but you don't mind it,
this wasn't meant
to be comfortable.

You just want this over with.
She looks at you
and smiles,
you look away.
All of this
is shameful,
but a necessary evil.
There is a decadent
beauty
that surrounds the
cheapest and
rawest of pleasures,
that glory in the gutter.

*** in a car is the most
dispassionate of locations.
You drop her back off,
don't stick around to see her
caught by her
waiting father.
Her shirt is on wrong
and her hair is ******.
Not your problem.
You head home,
keeping the music up,
thinking about anything else.
You don't even know
who she is,
just some quick fix,
just another wednesday night.

You try to believe that
it is better that way.

I was knee deep
in the trenches
with a good girl
a beautiful girl
smile that struck
like lightning
right to the bone
--you know the ones
I know you do--
the ones that
walk light on
their feet
as if all of
life was a choreography
some beautiful dance
--you know
the ones--
the ones that
look at you
with eyes that
tell more than
any sentence

when she hit me
she hit me hard
I fell in too far
before I could
stop myself

I was knee
deep in the trenches
and this girl was
dancing and
smiling her way
right through me
what is a man
supposed to do?
faced with
a love like that
faced with a threat
like that
to my safety
to my sanity
what is a man supposed
to do?
when a girl can hit like that
when a girl can break
you open
steal your soul
eat you alive
without a word

I was knee deep
in the trenches
with a good girl
fighting off friends
and foes alike
keeping my head low
away from the open
praying to get out
of there alive
but even the mortars
can't hit
like that

Her man had left for California.
Left her with nothing but the dog
to fight the emptiness of her apartment.
She told me she couldn't sleep anymore,
told me she couldn't eat anymore.
She got sick,
so sick— swore that it was
tuberculosis, malaria, typhoid fever—
My experience led me to my own diagnosis;
another case of a love long lost.

I didn't have the heart to tell her.
Instead I slept with her,
despite the risk of sickness.
She was afraid it was contagious.
I laughed, told her I would
take the risk.

I stayed there two weeks, laughing.
She could eat again,
she could smile again,
she made up love late into the night.

It seemed like this
quarantine was paradise.
Till up one night there was a
knock on the door.
It seemed like her bags
were already packed.
It seemed like she was gone
within the few moments it took to see
who it was behind the door.
Told me to lock up the
apartment, leave the key under the
*** of wilted hydrangeas.
He was back from California.
It seemed like she was cured—
of her malaria, her yellow fever, her cholera—
Just like that, a clean bill of health.
A modern day
miracle.

It seemed to have been
contagious,
after all.

There have been a few

like you and there

have been many

who have tried,

but there has never

been one that 
was you.

When you are

old and fat,

and I am old

and dead,

this poem will

find its way 
toward your

blurred, 
flickering eyesight

and you will know 
of a
love that was
 replicated,
but
 never duplicated,
that was complicated,
but 
never eradicated.

No names will

be said,
 no memories

told, draped in metaphor,

simply the words,

but you will know

it was you,

and you will know

it is you

because you feel

it, already, every day,

though it sits denied

in the back of

your mind,

though it sits silent

in the shadow of

every smile,

where it waits

and waits and waits,

with a patience I could

never find,

for that day,

when, old and fat,

you chance
 upon this

and know,
 with
slight regret,

that it was 
always you.

She was putting
on makeup in the mirror
while I lay on the bed.
It was late
and she was going out,
had on these heels
that made her
tall as me
when she stood.
--and so much
more dangerous--

She sat there
putting on makeup,
and every so often she'd
look through the mirror
in my direction and
shake her head;
a mix of disbelief
and resentment.

She sat there
putting on makeup
in silence for
eternities before she
suddenly stood up.
Told me she couldn't
take it anymore.
Told me she
had a friend
who'd let her sleep out
on her couch as long
as she needed.
Told me this friend said
she would have
left a long time ago,
if it had been her.

When I didn't respond
she called me a *******
*******,
called me all of these
terrible names.
She listed out all of my
terrible sins,
--with surprising
accuracy in detail--
and told me I was lucky to have
her as long as I did.
I told her I agreed and
she stormed
out the door,
leaving me in awe
there on the bed.

I haven't heard from her since,
but sometimes late
at night, when
it gets quiet and lonely,
I can hear
those ******* heels
click-clacking down
the stairs.

Piercing my heart with
each step out
towards the night.

you lay there
coming up with
excuses
everything that
went wrong
all the reasons
this ship was
going under
everything that
led us up to
where we are now
--which is
nowhere--
you talked about
how I was working
late and
how you'd been sick
so often
how I'd been drinking
so much
you said it wasn't any
one's fault
just mostly mine
and you didn't
blame me for it
you just hated me for it
but you still loved me
you made sure to
clarify that point
so you kept looking
for the iceberg
kept justifying
excuse after excuse
for why this ship
was sinking
you didn't realize
I put the holes
there myself
this was no titanic
there was no iceberg
no sum of
quantitative and
rational excuses
I
just
didn't
love you

I watched her get
in the car
with another man
laughing at the noise
emerging through his
tongue and mouth
and teeth
while I cursed my
own tongue and
mouth
and teeth
for every
dreadful sound
they collaborated
and collided
to create

she called me a pig
--I said something
inappropriate
I'm sure--
I don't know if
it was enough
for her to stomp
off like she did
but I've always
enjoyed a little
drama
so I didn't stop
her
the bar was filled
with degenerates
of the holiest kind
cheap liquor
loose smiles
and easy times
I figured that
pigs must enjoy the mud
sometimes
if not most of the time
and I figured she
mustn't enjoy the mud
and I figured she
mustn't enjoy the
pigs
oh well
what is one to do
I hope she can
atleast enjoy the rain
because we're ten blocks
away from her
apartment
and
I have
the car keys

Laying in bed,

she told me 
all about her

most recent lover;

how he had broken

her like a clock.

“You see, I can’t move

anymore,” she said,
“You see, I can’t feel
anymore,” she said.

Her hands shook

and she got so pale
simply at the thought
of it all.

I rolled over,

—I am no superhero,

sweetheart—

Don’t believe I will save you,

Don’t believe I will kiss you,

I will not hold you hand.

“This isn't your rebound,
sweetheart, 
it is your rehabilitation,”

I told her.

This is your rehabilitation
for all the times

you fell in love

and couldn't get back
up,

for all the men
that seemed so sweet

but never delivered.

Don’t believe I will save you,
Don’t believe I will fix you,
“This isn't your resolution
,
sweetheart, it is your retribution,"

I told her.
This is your retribution,

so **** me

like all the men

who ****** you over,
like all the men
who broke you down.

**** me like 
a woman with no heart

and one day you will
realize it may not
 be
pretend anymore.

—I'm no superhero,

sweetheart—

But I will sure as hell

play the villain,

because most of 
the time
that is all you truly 
need.

stayed with a woman
and her sister
for a few weeks
up by the chesapeake
on a little river
with a dock
that audienced
the most beautiful
sunsets
a man could witness
she was a good woman
widowed
quick to think of others
before herself
never got drunk before noon
worked hard and long
for the money she earned
and I appreciated her
and her hospitality

her sister
smoked ****
and drank expensive wine
on that dock
during the earliest hours
of the day
looking upwards
all the way till that
beautiful sunset
I would join her
while her sister was hard
at work

I appreciated my woman
for her work habit
for the *** and the
hospitality she gave so
willingly and passionately
however I also appreciated
her sister
in many of the same ways
which is why I was asked
loudly and violently to
cut my visit short
after only two
quick weeks

I still miss
those sunsets

I had been alone
for three months at this point
I hope you know
swerving in and out of
the madness
climbing so high
off pills drugs ***
any cheap fix
only to dive down
so far
into the emptiness
of self pity
and sobriety
three months
with no call
hadn't seen her beautiful
smile
except sometimes when I
closed my eyes
I quit the job
I quit writing
I wasn't hardly living
merely existing
as if by some accident
of fate
but the money ran out
and the drugs ran out
so I took to the street
to find one or the other

I ran into her
down by the train station
after three months
with no call
no smile
nothing

she was surprised to see me
as if she had forgotten
I was the one that had
been there when she had
gotten that tattoo right
below her neck
or the high heels she
was wearing
she seemed to have forgotten
our lives had been tangled
together
in a mess of *** and
facetious love for
the better part of
a year
she was catching a train
out west
she said
to marry some man
sitting on 9 acres
of land somewhere
she couldn't handle
the city anymore
and she walked toward
the track and
looked back
for a quick smile

melted my heart
a ******* miracle
a ******* delight to see
I hope you know

After ***, she fell asleep
and I laid there for some time
thinking about all the collisions
and coincidences that led me
up to this point.
She was a beautiful girl
--blonde hair blue eyes,
you know the deal--
She liked older men,
she had said
while we were speaking
at the bar.
That's when I knew it was
a good thing. That's when
I knew it was good that
I had rented a motel room
so close.
Old men have baggage,
the older you are
the more **** you carry
around like stones.
Older you are, the more ****
everyone else has
to deal with;
especially young
beautiful girls
at a dive bar off of the interstate
hanging around old men.
Especially the old men preying
on younger women at a bar
close to their motel room.

Girls who like older men
are either too naive
to know any better,
or too desperate to give
a ****.

I quietly got up
walked toward the sink,
avoiding carefully the
clothes and wine glasses
that lay all
strewn about the room.
--****** motel--
The ones that still
have the old keys
with that big hole where
the key chain goes.
The water pressure
was terrible
but I ran my face under
the water.
I thought maybe
she must just be naive,
she can't be anything past
twenty or so,
**** still perked and eager
and her thighs still tight.
Not for long,
I would imagine,
not with that inclination
towards older men.
That baggage will weigh
it all down, down, down.

I wish I could
have helped her.
I wish I could have
made her realize
she doesn't much need
the baggage.
--But how do you expect
a lion to tell an antelope not
to get too close?--
You don't.
So I turned off the faucet
and laid back in the bed;
just another old lion
full with thoughts of
the young, eager antelope
and the shame of an
empty victory.

I hope you know I'm losing my ******* mind
copy and pasting myself to an early grave
here's the shovel
here's the gun
here's the bullets
**** that trigger feels awfully nice
ctrl+c
ctrl+v
is this what hell is?
stuck in a cubicle
endless and tedious
doing everything
and accomplishing nothing
ctrl+c
ctrl+v
I can't handle being left
alone with my thoughts
this long
it's no good for the soul
too many mistakes
prancing around
teasing the imagination
showing you every bad decision
and they won't leave you alone
because you know they're right
because you don't sleep at night
because everything is not how
it was supposed to be
all you want is a full night's sleep
instead everything is
copied and pasted
your whole reality
is made up of interactions
copied and pasted
throughout your memories
ctrl+c
ctrl+v
here's the shovel
here's the gun
here's the bullet
you know what to do

I hope you know
I'm losing my ******* mind
slowly
steadily
--what's that they say
about the turtle
and that
******* rabbit?--
been racing too long
where's that finish line
where's that light
that one they say
ends the tunnel
I'm exhausted
I hear it in the back
that turtle
whispers
as he catches up
I hear it in the back
of my head
he's coming for
my sanity
he knows I know
we aren't *******
idiots
that madness is coming
he is coming
and he will not wait
he will not stop
free fall is great
oh the jump is a beautiful thing
but the rocks still hurt
and they look bigger
every *******
second

they're off on
the last lap
the young rabbit
far in the lead
but woah
there goes that
******* turtle
coming round the
final turn
catching up
and everyone knows
this isn't a race
I can win

It's got to be the woman
she's driving you crazy buddy
she's riding you right up
the wall
you gotta get out buddy
you gotta abandon that ship
she ain't worth it
you see those gray hairs?
they're growing in fast
all that stress
it's killing you
not to mention
your writing's been ****
since she came in your life
you know that?
people upstairs talking nonsense
as if you lost it
your touch
your mind
something's lost they say
everyone's talking about it buddy
she's gotta go
it's her or us
you know the consequences
don't you?
we need you in this
one hundred percent
what's it gonna be?
what's it gonna be buddy
you gonna let some
***** with nice legs
cute little pair of ****
ruin everything we built
together? huh?
no no
you know better than that
you'll get that **** together
won't you?
you've been writing ****
since she came around
they're all saying it buddy
you don't even come out anymore
she's got you locked away
like some circus animal
you're no circus animal buddy
are you?
you're a ******* hero
stop messing around
with this broad
stop letting her get you down
you're one of us
you've always been one of us
and you're gonna stay
one of us
but you've been writing ****
and we think you mighta
lost it

you ain't lost it
have you?

there was a hand holding my head
an angel, I'm sure
the reflection in the water was blurry
and my eyes
caked with tears
threatening to fall
the taste in my mouth was
of blood and *****
as if death itself
had called my name
but the angel simply rubbed
my head and swore it
would be alright

woke up the next afternoon
in the bathroom
almost catatonic
with a ****** headache
and bad breath
spit
******
grabbed a glass of
water from the tap
and realized
that despite
the death that hangs over
every bad decision
like breath in arctic air
the angel wasn't lying