this morning, at 3:17

I was laying on your chest

awake

listening to your heartbeat

and I realized that

it is no longer my favorite song

goodbye

I was reminded of you this past weekend

I drove by your old place
Where you first let me see you naked
Yet I only stared at your face
And that just made you feel more timid

I saw it as I was driving to Spoonriver
Just to the left of the Guthrie
It was for Mother's Day lunch,
Yet it was her who payed for me
She said that she wanted this moment to be happy
Instead of something that might ******* me
She said to just hold on to all my money
Because it finally looks like I've stability

I think that what she meant to say
Was that everything's going to be okay
Instead of awkwardly denying May

... I mean me




On the way to drop my mom off

I drove back past your old place
The one up over in Nordeast
Where we would buy volcano drinks
At the tiki bar of ****** Suzi

We would walk the mile from your living room
Beneath the quiet winds of spring
And hand in hand with our pre-game buzz
Was a disregard for everything
Almost exactly a year before today
I was in a fist fight there
The bartender said, "At least it was for your girl"
and that they didn't even care

I think that what he meant to say
Was it might be time to call it a day
Instead he gave more drinks to you and May

... I mean me




The rest of that night had been a breeze

We walked back to your old place
A crooked grin,
Attained from gin,
Was sprawled across your face

We found our way inside
We found our way into your bed
Like shedding pedals, you undressed yourself
And took the flowers from your head

It took you all night just to say
That you had never felt that way
And that you thought you were in love with May

... I mean me

She doesn't know
She doesn't know
That I'll go
Gladly go
With a straight face
I've picked up my pace
Trees pass by
Sidewalk cracks
Is it wrong
To move on?
Let go
You have to
Or be dragged
You will
Until your skin
Is scratched to bone
Until your face
Is unrecognizable
She doesn't know
She doesn't want to know
That I'll go

I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.

His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead

For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.

But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.

Bitten by a spider
at the oddest hour.

His whole body throbbing
with his own pulse.

All his insides are charred
but sleep is not a willing
companion.
The eternal coronation,
death as his champion.

Sweating through a thin veil
of details, begging the question,
begging for recognition,
even the most elegant logic is an ugly thing.

In delirium, he tears his journal apart-
that's how an artist starts.
He is ugly,
he is crude,
he drank some poison
down in Greenwood.

he becomes quite faint
when struck with the
quaint notion:

that even the heavy
handed blacksmith
has finesse, and feeling too.

For the one-night stand I have never had and the
Future I'll gladly take like a powder
In a nine dollar drink
On the rocks.

Bartender.