We found comfort in compatible chaos.

I just wanted to be drunk for the last four
Or five months of my voluntary exile.

When I was young I was praised for my intellect,
I was inflated and strung out on sheer potential
Without focus.
So I wrote sonnets on the merits of photosynthesis and
Trigonometry.
I ran grammar marathons.
I searched for the artist inside me and found civil war histories.

I came home unsure and afraid of the future.
I came home unfinished and.

“I want to be the Jim to your Pam,” he says.

And it makes you want to smile.
the way nostalgia makes you want to smile, the way
you smile when you watch that Star Trek episode, you have
seen it a thousand times but man,
those Tribbles sure are Trouble.

So you take the stairs two at a time you
sit on that twin bed, you put your feet up,
your toes under the covers because this was almost home once;
this was safe silence of late nights without much conversation,
of finding you knew the same words to the same songs
of always having a toothbrush and a t-shirt in the car.

this was a band-aid and a bottle of Oberon
when you skinned your knee on that “shortcut” home from the bar.

and he laughs and he says “just make yourself comfortable.”
and despite all the years and the lies you almost
Do.

In the winter
We follow pawprints
Through the forest,
through the thick of things.

You; convinced we are onto something.



We pass a flask with our
Heavy mittened hands and

Just between You and me; i

Don’t think it was the dogman. i don’t
Think

We will ever find anything out here.

Yeah, we used to light matches.

We thought about burning these buildings down but instead
Smoked our cigarettes or the occasional
Cigar.

When we had something to celebrate.
When we made it though the week alive or at least
Breathing and drinking and swearing a little less.

You pulled me into the bathroom to tell me you thought
We should get out of here tonight and
Tomorrow night and all the nights after.
You smelled like cheap beer and even cheaper plastic.

I thought about how, thus far, we’d skated by without
Getting cancer.  Without a fist fight, or a DUI or
Even a close encounter with the law.

This was not a Western.  We were not rebels.
We were scared and lost and trying so hard not to act like
Spoiled rich kids.

You pulled me into the bathroom.
Maybe you meant it but
You smelled like cheap beer and a little something extra.

I imagine in another life we are sitting together at a bar,
In the city,

You are holding my hand under the table, tracing
All of those scars on palms meant
For bigger and better than this.

In the weeks after I see you
I refuse to touch
  railings or doorknobs,
in fear of someone picking up
the pieces of you that will
rub off of me.

I just wanted more than drunken decisions and
Poorly-lit mistakes.

Or at least a better soundtrack.

Or at least,
a killer budget for special effects.

We could have made this a masterpiece of collusion;
rockets and robots with lazer eyes,
A daring chase scene;
one of us in the shower, the other,
knife in hand, or watching as someone,
knife in hand,
ruined the (nail-biting, will-they/won't-they) romance.

I can hear the critics now,
“The acting was terrible but there were some
amazing explosions and I sure loved the location.”

“Their chemistry seemed a little forced,
Am I really supposed to believe
it was a lie from the get go?  I just don’t
know if I can stomach the clear and unfortunate selection of that
leading lady,
of that leading man.”

I keep a list of words that remind me of you.
Buoyant, Renegade, Circumnavigate
Alexithymia, Insatiable.

No.

I have this dream,
Of living on Mars, surviving without oxygen.
Leaving everything in the world behind

But never you.