A great, big fish, slapped
out on the ice. Rainbow
skin, and the smell of seawater.
I sit
and chat with the fishmonger.
Four kilos of salmon or herring,
for chowder, or something.

I keep finding drugs in my bra.
I'm not even sure
how they get there. I told a boy
how I felt. He got scared, and he ran,
but then he came back
like they usually do.

My boss makes me tired.
This town makes me tired.
I'm getting ***** looks from a pregnant girl
because I slept with the father
of her unborn child.
And I can't even blame her.

This town is a cesspit.
A melting black hole of *******,
ecstasy, Guinness and cheap cocktails.
It smells of cigarette smoke
and no one uses condoms.

I'll be going back to school soon.
A different world where books are cool,
where drugs aren't glamorous
and tobacco is stupid.

Xanax is my new best friend,
it numbs me to dish-washing,
fish shopping, coke sniffing,
*******
and hopeless despair.
Get me out of here.

Strings of wisdom flow through my fingertips
like front-porch-swing storytelling.
The stars are visible through the window tops
as moon eyes stare up at their sisters.

The truth is,
I could listen to you ramble for hours in the backseat of that car.
I listened to you ramble for hours,
just to hear every thought and pun and "but like"
that escaped your once clenched teeth and locked lips,
and after prying open your brain, my jaw was left ajar
in awe of the reality that a shy girl with seafoam eyes
could ever open mine that wide
in such a short amount of time.

The truth is,
I want to dig my hands into your thoughts and pull up roots from the dirt and find that I've got a green thumb.
I want to climb the tallest mountain in Tennessee and have your smile welcome and invite me into your home.
I want to watch your children grow older and want themselves as a mother like their mother did when she wasn't much older.
I want to hear every flirtatious remark dangling from that bracelet of yours clink together as you lift your chai latte from the counter.
I want to question what the time of day is
and wait for your mind to create a clever counter-clockwise comeback that throws mine for a loop and sends me spiraling back down to earth
on the dials of the sun and the mills of the wind.
I want to stop and read every spray-painted sentence on each step of the stairs leading to the perfect amalgamation of essays and creative journals, and analyze the way your cursive gets lazy and then cleans itself up while maintaining an enlightened tone.
I want to venture into abandoned shacks in the middle of the night that are hardly recognizable two seasons later just to find out that it's the wrong house and the open windows mean someone may be home.
I want to see the scribbled out "sandwhich" corrected in red ink.
I want to drink your words and refill and recycle the bottle.
I want to blend the blacks and whites on the palette and create a shiny sensitizing zinc.
I want to be the one who genuinely understands the way you think.

The truth is,
I have this irrevocable desire to listen to music that no one else has ever heard in a pair of headphones until I find a harmony,
and then let it play on the radio for those of us with complexity
to sing to as we stare down the road of an alligator bayou
and become hypnotized by the beat.

i watched the slow death of MTV.
the music palace impaled and heaved
onto a coal-hot pyre of cool kid consumer trash.
pregnant teens, range rover birthday bonnets,
& ***** jungle-sweat challenges.

smoke the spirits of stolen leaves.
traverse the cineplex stairs and exits
glowing. mammoth screens,
with their long shadows, long teeth, long
celluloidal gods.
death to this too.

set a heap of old chairs and furniture on fire
in the backyard, hoping neighbors will gather
to drink and laugh. or at least one of them to yell
and grab you by the collar,
violently whistling.
wait and bleed.

my feet dangle by the edge of the rooftop
and i am terrified that i have every ounce of courage slowly building up inside of me
my soles still sting from the glass shards that sliced my knuckles open
and it was odd how my mind exclusively focused on my feet and not the hands that engaged into combat with my reflection
my hair is in the way, quickly growing into the nuisance it will always be
it tastes of cheap shampoo, cigarettes, fumes and yesterday's drug abuse
but let me tell you this, i do not do drugs
but the cuts on my fingers, and the dirt under my nails, will tell you that i do
it was just a misunderstanding, a punch to the face, a jaw i thought would dislocate, and tears swelling up, obstructed by a lip bite away
i am not clean, i can show you my wrists as proof and more on my arms to gain your sorry's and mercy
but i do not want attention
it's funny since i'm the one seated at the edge of the rooftop, the top floor, the 22nd
and i am trying to capture the entire city by a single look, including my peripheral vision
trying to picture, the edges of the photograph it will be
but my hair is in the way, and i can barely see
so i pretend to perceive the scenery yet attempt to not disregard the words i think they speak
their sounds start to appear as turbid as a puddle of mud
and yet everyone looks happy enough from up here

i grow eager by the second
thoughts do not outstretch and remain abrupt as my legs suspend high up from the ground
and i hope to stay irrelevant
as my fingers slip from the concrete and my wrists twist toward the wind

i will not think of my last words until i am close enough to outline the features on their faces, and trace the roads that are lining up with vehicles, boarded with individuals who will not see me until i am scattered on the pavement

n.j.

hey, I'm
seeing spiders &
shadows & lights again &
there comes a point
in your life when
you realize
it's all this forced speech
about how
the weather is fine &
no one has died
that shouldn't have.

it's like sitting
in an unfamiliar bathtub
til the water goes cold,
knowingly just floating
in frosty clouds of your own filth,
that sick type of epiphany
that we're all just sad little
feeder fishes painted gold
that live to eat **** **** float
get old go blind become senile
then hopefully die
before anything too terrible happens.
happy ends.

unlikely.

high noon &
the horse flies are biting,
for the life of me.
if you find yourself dead
or alive.
they'll pay you for perfect timing.

so smile sunshine
the drain hasn't
swallowed you yet.

no problem no sweat.

The teenagers smile through their misery
as they learn to love the taste of beer.
I learned from then on that no actions of ease
are ever sincere; that we all struggle to keep pace
with all that is expected - a grade-mark percentage,
an overtime enthusiast; a steady-state consumer
who is always bright, bright, bright and on time;
who is never bleak and twisted, or overcast and out of mind.

I see the couple's silent feud
as they hold hands across the road;
I see the womanizer pop a zit in a wing mirror
on his way to the latest *******.

The sales assistant yawns through the breathing spaces
of professional enthusiasm, scouring the pages
of the company magazine, whilst the radio sweats
in the corner of the room. Last night's words
are on her mind as she signs the papers
with today's date; today's place in time
amongst all of the others that dominate her life,
whilst leaving scars and no memories,
punching the clock and throwing the fight.

I see the hang-man wince in empathy
after his dog had died last week;
I see the expert in the hotel mirror,
feeling sorry about his ****.

The Beautiful People are walking the ugly track
back home, amongst the rubble of Snapchats
and bad scratch-cards; the cardiac nurse
meditates in the restaurant corridor
before going to meet a woman.
I learned from my lofted position
on top of all the walls I have built,
that no matter how vivid the flower in sunlight,
in the darkness, it will always come to wilt.