i love the way you
feel me up in public places,
****** to nameless faces,
tell my friends to ***** themselves:
"it makes me feel protected".

command the god of heaven down,
wear your flimsy clinquant crown,
weave tales of fictitious sounds
that i will "soon" be making.

i love the way you never bathe
i love the way you never shave
i love the way you never made
an effort just to please me.

-

and the rain fell backwards that night
and the fires restored houses
and we all took showers and got
dirtier
and
dirtier
and
dirtier.

And I am just a fool
In a robe
With a gavel
And the power to take your life away.
And you are just a soul
In a body
In a suit
In a chair
In a court house,
Sweating.
And my mind
Is just matter
Resting in fluid
In a bony shell
Recalling experiences
Generating signals
Connecting synapses,
Speculating the reasons
For your
Poor judgement.
And you
Sit up straight
Back arched
Hands together
Upon your lap
Hair tickling your nose
You won't touch
For hours.
And I
Will make
No
Decision today.

Good or bad
Sharp and dull
Work or play
Light and dark
Smart or dumb
Young and old
Worthless all the same
In the end its still over

My words have gone walking again.
They got up and left,
slamming the door behind them.
I think it's been a long time coming and a slow spiral downwards;
lately I've been speaking in euphemisms and grandeur that only
I can make sense of
(maybe my jokes just stopped being funny to everyone around me).

My words have gone walking again.
They slipped out the open window,
caught a ride west and said,
"She'll be fine on her own. She always is."

Third times the charm,
my words have gone walking again.
They took off on a horse with no name
and hopped a train to Clarksville.
Alphabet soup has come to life,
but not with my choice in spoonerism.
My head's not quite in my hands,
but my shoulders are keeping it hinged.
Come back soon, my mouth feels empty
and my tongue has no flap nor tap left without you.

I've forgotten
how you feel
I've forgotten
how you taste
You used to cake on lipstick and kiss every one of my cigarettes
I've forgotten
how you smell
I've forgotten
how you sound
After ***, you used to blow into my face to cool me off
I've forgotten
how you move
I've forgotten
how you walk
You used to sing along to all the music I like, even though you hated it
I've forgotten you
I've forgotten us
We used to kiss under the moonlight

Sometimes I only think I drink so I'm brave enough to talk to you.
To let the swallows burn some courage into me,
tell me what I'm too afraid to tell myself.
Let me feel what I'm too afraid to feel, too ashamed to admit.
Not that I'm raging, nor am I addicted.
(But I bet that's what they all say).

*** and coke is my drink of choice.
Feel that sunshine on the sand, the paradise of a paradox.
Funny how I've never actually been to a real beach,
with a real ocean,
but pretend it's the only place I ever want to be.

You make me ashamed of myself.
I don't want to be your mistress, your last call before the lights go on.
I've never promised myself anything less than everything.
What I want, I make for myself.
Not my parents, not my sister, not for you, not for God.
I give myself a reason to exist.
My raging hormones
(loneliness from only conversing with disordered populations)
shouldn't be an excuse to be a second choice,
the one you can claim if the current girl "doesn't work out".

My spit is all over these words,
I picture them more as a slam then a reading.
I want you to feel my truth,
feel my crumble as the walls come down but bombs still drop.

this silver remembrancer
with its onyx stone,
like polished coal,
never leaves my finger.

a symbol, inescapable,
irreplaceable;
what it stands for was
inexcusable
in the highest possible degree.

i wear my black ring
to remind myself
not to say another
"*******" to every "thank you"

because now
i think you're all right

performing advances
beneath my eyelids,
hoping you appear
when they open.

descriptions:

nervous butterflies
hiding in the pit
of a beautiful girl,
she's tired,
stayed up past midnight,
and she can't
go back to sleep.

"Good night"
(not until tomorrow morning)

whispers: "good morning" "good morning" "good morning"

time for toast, and showers, and directions home.

CRASHES, in the kitchen: the freeway.

because it's our house and we can do what we want to:
1. 2. 3. cups of coffee.

I write what I want to say to you:
feels boring.
feels exciting.
feels
         familiar.

Conversation boiling down to,
you,
(disappearing),
and
me
(passing out to loud noise
and bright lights).