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Today I wanted to buy the copyright to the process of hallelujah
******* in joy the same way whales eat krill
You just bottle it up inside your lungs until you have enough

Inside my fridge I have vacuum sealed jars of hallelujah
There’s nothing religious about that
Jars labeled things like
Loss of virginity
Rob lived this time
The homework is complete

Hallelujah

It’s the same way prayer works
Backwards
Pulling bits of god like an inhale

I want to hyperventilate on your hallelujah
Like a gospel choir on speed

It collects
Over time
For instance
It was maybe a month in to sleeping at Delia’s and Toffer’s house
Before I realized
I didn’t have to sleep in my car anymore
You go into the bathroom to **** and realize
Hallelujah
A jar labeled
Found a Home for now

I know science can do this
For the sake of all that is a monument to a single life
So that on your death bed, or at your funeral
Everyone there can hold a jar

Cold and warm at the same time
Vibrating in their palms
In violent joy
Like mozzletoff cocktails
They are thrown
And when they shatter there is a song
That has been collecting for years

The same word in different tonal joys

Your life

Every good moment

Hallelujah
I'm so incredibly tired, I can barely keep my eyes open.  The clock reads 4:30, I've been up for twelve hours already, and only slept for four hours the night before.  I sip on my Monster as I call her; Her voice can wake me up, surely.  No answer, so I keep driving till she calls back.  Immediately I hear laughing, and she tells me she's with her best friend, he has been forever.  "Hey baby! How was your day?" I explain how I'm tired and I hoped she'd be able to wake me up.  I'm interrupted with more deep laughing.  "Man, I wish I could make you laugh like that!"  She doesn't hear me, she's laughing too hard.  I wish I were that funny...  I push past that thought as she asks "Are you driving?!" I lie and say no, but she replies "Text me when you get home! Bye! ....Love you!"  She hangs up, still laughing.  Alright Tony, don't fret it.  She's having a good time with her friend, no big deal.  Be happy for her.  

I look back to the road, but soon get lost in my thoughts.  She's in the center of the spotlight; God, how I miss her.  All I want to do is see her again, hold her hand and feel her head pressed into my chest.  But soon, ugly thoughts push themselves into my head.  She's out with him right now, while I'm here driving home from work and trying not to fall asleep in the middle of the road.  She's laughing at his jokes; that deep, happy laugh that I've rarely heard before.  A car passes in front of me and I hit my breaks slightly.  Knock it off Tony, they're just friends.  You're the one with her, not him.  But once again, the road starts to slip by and I go on cruise control.  I replay the conversation in my mind.  He just came to pick her up, he's making her laugh.  An ice cold pang of guilt flashes through my gut; I wish I lived close to her like that.  Being able to see her every few days would be wonderful, but instead I might be able to see her every few weeks.  Suddenly, a car cuts in front of me.  I hit my breaks and swerve a bit, close to the median.  *******!  Get the hell out of my way.  My mind starts to race in a different direction; what if I hit the median back there?  Would I have slammed into it, then gotten crushed by the pickup truck who was tailgating me?  Or would I have flipped over it right into the path of a truck?  I could have died back there, but I still can't focus.  But wait...if I had died, would she cry?  We haven't even been together for that long, but yet we both feel such an immense love for each other.  Or so I think.  

A white hot flash of anger.  Tony stop it; this is ridiculous.  I can hear her voice in my head, scolding me, "I've told you before, there is no one else.  He is just my friend, he knows he has no chance with me".  But still, he's there right now with her in his car.  He's there for her and I'm not.  What kind of boyfriend am I?

I look down to the speedometer; 90.  Check the rear-view, no cops.  Good, keep going.  I'm speeding past other people, not even noticing them as they slide past.  I finally get off the highway, almost home.  I notice that the radio is loud, too loud.  The speakers are blown.  I realize I couldn't even hear it over the rush of wind in my ears as I flew home from work.  I blink, and once again notice the road and the traffic in front of me.  Ok Tony, time to cool down.  They're friends, that's all.  You're doing your best with what you can.  I get home and text her, "Home babe, I'll talk to you later.  Have fun".  She replies that she wants to text!  Maybe I was wrong the whole way home.  Why do I even let my mind make me believe such stupid things?  But she sends me another.  They're getting food, and then he's taking her to the movies.  New scary movie, she tells me she's refusing.  "We're not going" she texts me.  Last message I get from her, "Yes we are."

So I'm stuck here in this big empty white house upon a hill, writing this story, and wondering where she is and if she's having fun.  I'm in love with her, and we're together...but I still feel alone.
This is quite an unorthodox "poem" that I thought up on my way home today from work.  It's more just a description of my thoughts and feelings at the time, hopefully portrayed in a way that the reader can understand my detached state of being.  This is my first writing (of any sort) that I've done in a long time, so don't judge.
sleep is as distant
as my love's embrace,
that genuine grace
of her skin against my face.
if only sleep would grant me this night's reprieve
and deceive my unconscious mind
with dreams of her--
lovely, warm, and fleeting.
 Apr 2013 Heather Butler
Montana
Your windblown hair and
your windbound heart
inhabit a single memory.
Sad eyes in the rearview mirror
Pursed lips and perverted thoughts
Like how your hand resting on her thigh
should be resting on mine
instead.
 Apr 2013 Heather Butler
Montana
You run your fingers across maps
Like you are caressing the cheek
of your dying lover
for the last time
 Apr 2013 Heather Butler
M V
Lover sitting on the shower floor
spits at the drain,
watches it circle away between his feet.

I tell him to close his eyes
as I point the spray at his hair,
pull out the caked-dirt tangles.

I scrub at his back until it's red and raw,
and a thin trickle of blood
from a pimple or an ingrown hair
dances down the steps of his spine.

I could bathe him
in all the world's finest oils,
until the cacophony of fragrances
made my head spin
and he would still tell me that
I missed a spot.

Wrapped in a towel,
he asks me why I
do the things I do.

I say nothing,
and wipe a speck of grime
from his wet, swollen cheek.
It hasn’t been as cold lately
The train of shopping carts rattles
Vibrate my forearms
Especially as I cross the yellow speed bumps on the ground

The city put those there to trip up skateboarders
And to confuse babies in strollers

Old women on walkers avoid them

There are things designed to make us slower
More careful

I think about my last poetry reading while filling the coolers
And don’t ask myself why when alone
I take myself to the places that make me most happy

My cashier asks me when he can go home

You do everything slower when
You keep yourself company
When you’re lonely
You’re not savoring moments
You just taking your time
Because you can
I set the alarms and lock the doors
The moon has been out for a while
I will go home and write

Everyone is asleep except for me
I crack open a few beers
Open the window so the moon can keep me company

Forever I thought there was something wrong with me
But I have learned
Like the moon
Some things will only shine in the nighttime
Not everything looks like gold under the sunlight
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