She’d tell you
which group of stars

were what
in the evening sky

as you stood outside
the church after

choir practice
of a Friday night

and her finger
would lift up

and point it all out
and her words

would drift
on the night air

like cigarette smoke
and you held onto

her every word
as she spoke

not for what she said
of night sky

or constellation of stars
but for the sound

of her voice
how it disturbed

the universe
made the deadly silence

less deadly
how they could bring

you in close to her
could embrace you

as she did
when no one

was looking
or you were both alone

some place standing
or sitting face to face

and that particular night
as she pointed up

and out
her other hand

grabbed yours
in the evening dark

and gave a squeeze
and hold

and then let go
how deep

that love was back then
is hard to figure

but love it was
you know.

Chocolates and cigarettes?
Julie says

as you sit in a chair
opposite her

in the rest room
of the hospital

in the psychiatric ward
I thought you’d prefer them

to flowers
you reply

yes
she says

flowers tend to lie
heavy in my gut

and she smiles
and you look at her there

with her dark hair
long but dishevelled

I haven’t brushed my hair
or bathed yet

she says
seeing you look at her

but you can scrub my back
if you want

she says
watching you blush

best not
you say looking away

seeing out the window
a small garden

with summer flowers
but sensing

a slight movement
in your groin

at the mere thought
of her suggestion

how did you find me?
she asks

of all the hospitals
and all the wards

in this area
you managed to walk

into mine
she adds

you make me sound
like Bogart to Bacall

you say shyly
how about a drink later

down the road to the bar?
she says

You’re permitted to drink
while on drugs?

you ask
studying her eyes

and her lips slightly parted
only cola

she says pulling a face
but at least it gets me

out of this place
for an hour or so

you look at her
a small stirring

still taking place
between your thighs

there’s a small room
where they keep brooms

and brushes and such
where we can go

for a quickie
she says

looking at you
studiously

then breaking
into a laugh

at the sight
of your shocked face

some other time
you say

some other place
cigarette?

she asks
opening up

the pack you’d brought
you nod

and she hands you one
between her slim fingers

and you place it
between your lips

and she lights it
with a small red

plastic lighter
and you heave in

and feel the smoke
hit the back

of your throat
she inhales deep

and says
I prefer the ones

that make me float
and you see hollowness

open up in her
and her eyes

become wide open spaces
like cold winter skies.

"I expected better from you..."

She has a way of making me feel like a real man,
as she plants her legs across my chest
and whispers into my ear,
her tongue inches from my face
inches from my mouth
feet from where I want her to be.

My eyes close as she drapes her tongue over mine
I feel into her cheek and a nausea rises.
You tasted like coconuts and your hands were rough as sand.
I love the beach.
She tastes like picnic sandwiches and her hands feel like cold rubber.
I love the beach.

And, "If only, if only!" the Red Rover would cry
we played all the day and I had fun with her.
But I could only have fun playing with you.
And how desperately, suddenly ******
the press of my teeth had become
as I realized we are picnicking still.

I let my mind wander.
Kissing is a sport for the focused and lonely.

"...they say you're the best."

Drunken farm hand
I will always be
But summer comes
Full and sweet
Grass grows

Yet I sit in my cabin
I drink myself to sleep
Thinking of someone
Who is far far away
Where hills are unbroken
And cold in the night

Spitting tobacco as I clean the pens
The dogs walk behind me
My only loyal friends
And we are alone
Out in the pasture by the gate
Where cars never drive by
One streetlight shininig lonesome
Onto long dirt country road

I was drunk
I couldn't even stand
So I lay there in the pasture
With the snakes and spiders and dogs
Thinking of you with all my power
Just wanting to hear you speak
Underneath the silent heavens
Waves of stars in a bitter black sea

She's more of a poet
'cause she went to school for it,
and she tastes sweet in the morning,

and in the evening,

sunlight filters through her
and lights up that slice of lemon
that I love so much.
I think I'll have a writer -

on the rocks.

Every time I come home,
my room smells like *** in the summer,
and it sounds like the vinyl is still under the needle.
Best album of two thousand and nine.

Best album of all time.

Sand between our toes,
we wrote prose
on a filthy mattress but
roses never grew here.

And they never will.

There was something about us though,
something that had a feverish pulse
behind it.  I'd say it was something to
do with the way we have of never putting
a cheap laugh below us. I think it has
something to do with resilience but I'm not sure.
Humming trite voicings of things we'd heard
in the backseat of our fathers' cars, radios on,
you use to tell me to flash the turn signal,
in the black of night, just so you could make sure
we were alive. Dry, but at least alive.
A little beacon to justify us,
and just defy them.


Whiskey,
come over
here and
kiss me.

C'mon
Corinthian,
keep me
company!

Set this manuscript
to music and dance for me!