Fingernails dug out of steering wheel
in the out door, not enough gin to ****
50 pushups. 50 more. Change my body
Maybe you won't ignore
Ambien, the lull of the ceiling fan,
the crowds of protestors disband --
the blanket warm, cosmos tease and can,
malaise, malaise, I'm trying to be active
and sane, sane for the next promise ring holder
and wine cooler queen, here comes the switch:
ether.
The night brings me back to you
by way of illusion --
you've got lingerie
I've got needs
You've got teeth
I've got shoulder blades
so it begins,
white knuckle, culling songs, strain on scalp --
I sing along, ancient melody, satin dirge --
precursor to your soliloquy and black venom urge
to scatter this bandaged man--
pieces in your hand,
collected and left on 100 dressers
for ill-informed future connivers
conspire
but I'm only tired of trying not
to look like a liar
so I blend into your blood
satisfied smirk from
transparent you
but what is the future
--a present hope
but what is the past
--a present memory
so we abolish each other now
betting on tangible mirages
in this delicious, miraculous night  
the stars align
the planets collide
not an inch of you goes unkissed
not an inch of me goes without an itch
blackness and breath swirl and spit
me into a confetti end time without prophet or priest
only a skinny seed, and then the switch:
wake with a present hope of getting over
my present memory.

Tim sounds nice. I mean reads nice. By what you described, he seems like he treats you alright. Rock n' roll. Movin' on. Proud of you.

Sorry he found that letter I wrote you a few weeks ago. Though it means a lot you kept it. Aren't remnants of past lovers interesting? It's not enough for us to take pieces of each other as we press forward, but we also have to leave little trinkets to remind of the good, the bad, and indifferent times.

Tara left her favorite burnt, metallic necklace with a blue buddha charm embedded in the carpet when I lived at 2307. Thousands of hairpins were hidden throughout the place when Sam and I split. You threw that gypsy bracelet in the grass by the streetlight -- the one I got you in Colorado.

Karen didn't leave much with me. Instead certain shirts and pajama pants of mine -- became hers. She put a smell on them. I still can't wear the clothes; though I also can't get rid of them. I'm a hoarder. Keep all the memories for myself.

Do you ever dream of me?

No, I haven't seen Easter Island again. I looked Sunday night at O'Brien's. I imagine she was in one of those modern restaurants --  Japanese trees, Muzak -- with her white napkin folded neatly in her lap, drinking ice water, and humoring some fast-talking crazer who has a snowball's chance in hell with her. If I ever find the energy, I'd like to be that crazer.

Yes, I'm still night driving. I've got a big adventure planned for tomorrow. I'll tell you all about it. Tell me something honest in your next letter. Something you're afraid to tell me.

I'll learn to accept Tim. I promise.

I missed your eyes.
They've seemed so dark,
no light ever reflected in them.
But now I see
little stars
in the pools of silver.

I missed how the light
splashed onto
the planes of your face.
Though you've been hiding
behind your shadows.
But now I see
your smooth tan skin
showing again.

I missed your voice.
It's been so monotone,
coming out of lips
curled into a fake smile.
But now I see
your mouth stretched
so wide across your face.

And your words say,
"Do you ever feel like your not so alone when you're touching someone, even in the smallest way?"
A smile stretches across my face.
"Yeah. It makes me feel like someone can protect me for just a few moments."
You pull me closer to your chest,
arms wrapped around me and you whisper,
"I want you to know, I will always be there for you. I will protect you. I will love you, always."

Now that I have you again,
the aches in my heart
don't exist anymore.
The need to dig my feelings for you
deep deep down
is no longer needed.
Now that you are back in my life
I don't feel so alone anymore.

a man once wrote
   ‘bout this cat –
         the hip cat,
   he said,
           one hip to the
                true scene –
then he wrote
   ‘bout this cat’s
             Tree.
      He hung there
   to cool –
         on His Tree –
      when people thought
          He was too hot.
             He cooled alright –
     in fact –
       that cat became
             so cool
He’s still
                 the
                            hip cat
          ‘round some parts;
               though,
      no parts remain.
some claim to be
       that hot –
          that hip –
     but only those
          truly hip to the
                 scene
        don’t share trees

ambience was communal and jovial,
you sat around. kinda down.
thought flowed through ears and out mouths,
you sat around. inhaling ash.
music was skewed by the white noise of voices,
you sat around. silent to death.
our cooridination had since failed us,
you sat around. eyes focused.
a few egressed, said their goodbyes,
you sat around. exempt from kindness.
more to leave and quietness came,
you sat around. eyes to the ground.
end had come, only we remained,
but you sat around. just around.

instinctive consumption of vitamin C
from bright light to dim light - ever finding darkness.
"i wonder where hes gone?" questioned always,
never let us go. always let you go.
pondering quandries and
"i can never let it go."
pondering quandries and
"my words never fit."
hearing of Ski-Masks,
a final resort for the overwhelmed.

I entered as an accident,
and by accident I now leave.
With black sky above my head,
and black water beneath my feet,
I breathe deep, beerlit, shivering, and free of strings.
The salty sea's tides tease -- beckoning me.
Self-inflicted with age, far beyond
***** talk bedrooms, and burnt sage,
I travel deeper.

Deeper into the rocking cradle of the sea.
And any man staring into that black, wet eternity
would wonder about what he'll leave --
I've heard of leftover children, money, wives, lies, and lucky influence,
but I can't leave that to which I never cleaved.
I've got a suit and tie.
A pair of black shoes.
A pair of brown shoes.


My heart beats madly as the waves bash against my chest.
Whiteness laces the black water.
Immaculate white.
Whispering white.
A Great White Peace washes over me,
along with the seaweed and some wooden debris.
In this moment I say
-- I love you each
but under the sound of the sea,
my words, no more than flybuzz speech.

In this moment,
this Great White Peaceful moment
my existence does freeze,
as my body twists in the hands
of the black sea.

I was a fire,
burning,
crackling,
bursting.
Many have tried
to effuse
my vitriolic flames.
But I was too strong,
too powerful
for their deterrents.
I could've take on anything
everything.
I'd burn,
scar people,
just so that they'd remember
who I am.
Strong,
independent,
ultimate,
indestructable.
But then,
in a moment of weakness,
I was extinguished
into nothing
but a pile of ashes.
A stolen soul.
A broken heart.
And all it took
was a missive.

It was then
that I realized,
I'm not the fire.
The true bearer of this flame.
The fire was from
the one person
that I respected
that I trusted
that I loved.
They fueled me.
And they
were the one
that killed me,
that left me dry
with just the words
"Good-bye."

Dear Hatred,

I listened to you scream,
yell,
cry,
fight.
For days.
For weeks.
For years.
Ever since the day I had been born,
I have heard you
argue
through my bedroom walls,
under my bed covers,
through my tears.
My life has been
miserable.
All my fifteen years,
and you haven’t
even once
considered,
to stop,
for my own sake.
But now,
I sit on the corner
of a trashed intersection
holding up a cardboard sign,
like one of those
pathetic,
hopeless,
women,
that can only wait for a miracle
that won't come.
I ran away
from you.
Away from the
noise,
from the
abuse,
from all this
hate.
You have caused my life,
so much pain,
regret,
sorrow,
questioning of my
own existence.
I just tried
to run away from it all,
but you found a way
to make it worse.
You have made life
unmerciful,
and you continue to
torture me.
I have never been
wanted
by anyone.
So I guess it’s better now,
that I’m gone.
I hope you are happy.
Because I’m not.
I hate the world.
I hate life.
I hate you
I hate myself.