I want to know if a venti
Will hold a tall can for my jog home

As I type the word “how” into my phone
Recent searches pop up
Only one starting with the word how

“How do I know if I am having a heart attack”

I skip the beer and run
Until my heart beats so much warm blood into my face
I feel the pump in my lips

If only someone had kissed me just then

Too much change
Is bad for your heart
Weighs heavy in your thin places
Like locking your throat
While the bags under your eyes
Pull their draw strings shut to keep all that trash in

No one wants to know what your ***** laundry smells like
Not even you

And so much this feels like stepping into yesterday
Wearing brand new shoes
Where no matter what
The only thing I could have done differently is walk away

You give yourself lists
Of I can leave after
I fix the car
And throw away all our old stuff
After mom comes home sober but still broken
There will always be something or someone
You forgot to fix

But you will walk away from this
It will feel like heaven
Leaving all the dirt behind

Only heaven is more or less a line of people
Wondering if they turned their stoves off or not

A long time ago
Unicorns roamed the earth

They were ugly
And dumb
And did not know fear
Did not feel the need to use their horns for anything

They were fat
They smelled bad
Like an open wounded staph infection

They did not even taste good
To other animals or humans

But there was this boy who loved to watch them graze with his pet turtle Rusty
He watched and listened

The Unicorns did not neigh so much as they screamed high pitch and breathy
Into each other’s mouths
They made no sense
It was beautiful to him that things that made no sense
Could exist without reason
And there be nothing wrong with that

Rusty would walk around them
A turtle’s pace
And graze
Occasionally bite at an ankle
It made him feel strong
To cause such a big animal pain
And slink away unscathed
No one will ever see the way such a proud turtle walks
As the way Sparky did
Head so high
His neck did not look like ******* skin

The boy also watched them die
Watched as the men in his tribe led them to a nearby valley
Where they would smash the unicorn’s head in with rocks
The animals just stood there
Not understanding what was being done to them

The boy felt like a unicorn then
When his father hit him
He felt dumb
Dumb in the heart
Dumb in the brain
Dumb in the body
For continuing to stay

The boy cried as the last unicorn died
His father said that soon everyone would forget that something so ugly lived
The boy understood
So he went to nearby caves
Where all the gay tribe boys go
Because in hunter gatherer societies
Boys who did not work were gay
They did what makes them happy
That is why it is called gay

In the caves he would draw the unicorns
He made them beautiful
And intelligent
With blood that healed wounds
And horns that if stabbed you
Would cause the most beautiful death

When all this ugly is gone
People will tell stories about us

Some things don't hit you


                                                       til you tell somone else.              
                                                      
                                                              "She's
                                                                      never
                                                                                  coming
                                                                                                 back."

First draft of a short story. Check it. Lame title. Having no internet ***** until you use your new found time to do stuff like write. Who'd of thunk? Should have time to perouse soon. ;-{)

http://normanshine.wordpress.com/2012/08/23/new-heaven/

With love they still wilt

                          
                                                                It's okay to let them go



                            
                                                                                                                                Plants don't have feelings

On most days I feel like a cave on the outskirts of a small town in Iowa. A lonely hermit lives there. The cave is a body of tunnels. Some have lanterns waiting to be lit. The hermit lives somewhere in the center. Sometimes the children who have made up stories about the hermit visit the mouth. Full of fear, they yell into it. Yell, "Hello! Are you there?". After a moment of silence their own echos bounce back and startle them. Realizing he is not real, the children laugh. Their laughter fills the small tunnels, and the sound makes the hermit happy. On most days my body is heavy with that sound.