i know you look at light
and think of what
we could have been but
honey
we are
in another life
i'm waist deep
in your honey jar

Evenings like these
black as a keyhole

crossing a shadow cast
on the side of the road

where the ground sleeps
dreaming of smooth stones

and nights without love
earning a dangerous living

like a breath under water
choked on the mystery

of cornbread
and a farmer's daughter

I wake up thirsty
hungry and alone.

Arriving in the dark
like a listing ship
at your dock
my fingers skinned
all ****** at the knuckles
from christening your door
like a bottle on a prow
or a broken mirror
in the morning, caught
in the hurricane
of your crazy hair.

I like this pub.
Not too loud so you can't think.
Not too quiet so that you can't
help but think.

An old Cambridge pub called
the Portland Arms.
I've recently taken to drinking
whiskey straight, enjoying the burn.

The music is mediocre but
the people seem genuine enough.
Not that that matters anyway
when you're drinking alone.

Hearts are something like sweatshirts. When you leave them in someone else’s home for too long, it’s not completely yours anymore.

i'm no saint
i never
followed all the rules
not often
i conveniently forgot to tell the truth -
but often, enough
i was living like i had nothing to lose -
it's unfair
when you're unaware
blind eye to the only voice around
i drive fast
because i have places
i'd rather be than here

i turned over the keys
nothing
dead battery dogsled **** break
writing my name into you with acid
melting
i'll stick with you, she said
bread and butter, she said