It was a good night
With cold wind

Until I wrapped my car around a telephone pole
I was in and out at first

upside down

Saftey glass
Refelected on the moonlit road
As I wait in silence



Each breath is ragged beneath my shattered ribs
The rub of the seatbelt on my my clavicle
Snapped like a broken branch

I fight to keep my eyes open



I wake up to a man kneeling in the puddle of diamond windshield pieces
Yelling into a cell phone, and then talking to me calmly

I don't remeber my name

No I don't know what day it is

I'm gonna die


I wake up in the ambulance
The feeling of my lungs pumping themselves
The feeling of blood pooling beneath my hands
The sound of paramedics yelling at each other
Then talking quietly to me

No I don't know where I am

No I don't know how many fingers you are holding up


A neck brace keeps me from looking around
But I can see so clear in my mind



That day at the beach
When we skipped school


The night I snuck to your house
When your mom was out


The time I got bit by a dog
A hot afternoon in April

I remeber pine needles falling from the trees
As you kneel in the clearing
Talking about heaven


The emergency room doors slid open
On their own

Nurses yell back and forth
And speak quietly to me

As they cut away the clothes from my blackened skin
As the needle finds my vein
And I notice the old flamiliar sting
Among so much anguish

I dont smell the sterile smell of the hospital
Or the smell of my own scorched skin

I smell the sea
The sand on your skin
The taste of salt
The after swim kiss

I can't hear the beep of my blood pressure as it begins to rise
Or the yell of the nurse for a crash cart
I heard you sing
As we drove down the road
The moon was orange
And the sky was red
I could have turned down the radio
Just to listen

They yelled around me
It all fell on deaf ears

The last thing I ever told you was
"I never loved you and I never will

As you sit down
Poised to write a
Poem on your

Sister’s old black
Typewriter, a
Ghostly Mr

Bukowski comes
And puts his hand
On your shoulder;

He’s puffing hard
On a phantom
Cigarette and

Leaning, scanning
The page and what
You’ve written so

Far. You’ve written
Nothing about
*****, broads or cats,

He says, dropping
Ghostly ash on
The new carpet,

Not a word here
About *** or
Bets or getting

Drunk, he adds, then
Inhaling deep,
Coughing, wheezing,

Squeezing your thin
Shoulder, letting
Off a puffy

Phantom ****. You
Need to tell the
Reader things to

Get them to turn
The page, get them
To want to drink

Or ****, he says.
It’s my poem,
Bukowski, you

Reply, but he
Has gone now, the
Room is chilly,

The carpet has
Ghostly ash and
Your glass of white

Wine is empty.
You sit there poised
Over the old

Typewriter, the
Poem half done,
Half waiting to

Be written, the
Fingers itching
To be done. If

Bukowski comes
Again, he can
Write the next new

Poem, he can
Write the next one.

There was a tire on the side of the road
next to a rundown gas station.

The sky was blue and clear in contrast to the
bleak remnants of a lost cause,

             but this led me to think:

                          I’ve been seeing the world through a
                          distorted lens for some time now and
                          I’ve been frightened by the beauty of
                          life and art;

             trapped by my own insecurities.

             I was stuck on how I could never compare
             to these amazing people, when I, myself,
             held no talent.

             But I’m starting to realize, that’s not how
             art, life, or the world for that matter works.

             You’re held accountable for your own
             actions and you’re not always immediately
             praised for your talents, especially if you waste
             them.

             You can sit on the sidelines all your life,
             waiting and watching as friends and family
             pass on by;
             fulfilling their dreams and aspirations,
             while you let your own life fall to shambles
             because of a stupid thought that invaded your
             mind from a very young age:

             “I have no future.”

             But that’s never true for anyone.

             And sometimes is takes someone else
             to help you realize that you’re worth so much more.