it was the first day of class.
i had four.
boys and girls introduced themselves to me.
they offer their hands, so i extend mine.
it's awkward, i don't see why people bother.

a flurry of snow fell around mid-day.
i came to work to find that Sara the Secretary had quit.
on Friday to be exact.
apparently it was a big ordeal that involved some bitter words
that came drenched in venom and a ******* or two.

i'm glad i wasn't there.
she talked more than i care to listen.
oh well.
work.
work.
work.
Beth said the moon wasn't bright last night. said it was ****.
Beth goes to bed with the chickens.
but at least she does.
tell me what to do.

i note that i take notice of things that are the same.
people generally notice things that aren't.
isn't that funny?

Wake up  at 2 in the afternoon.
Lauren's gone to work,
Amanda's asleep.
Brew some coffee.
The machine sounds like a tired
elephant being killed after a long chase.

I lace up a pair of new shoes.
My mom's been telling me I need
new shoes.
I didn't really want them.
I probably need them, but still I'm indifferent.
It's not the money
or the irritating salesman,
or the funny look I receive when I
ask for my ridiculously large size,
or even the other customers.

It's the part where I have to
wear them in.
I'd really rather not.

I buy the same brand,
different color.
I think my mom will just be grateful
I did at least that.
The last two pairs of shoes I
had were exactly the same.

Now I have a girlfriend,
a different pair of shoes,
a different apartment,
and longer hair.
I'm incredibly in love and wearing in shoes
doesn't hurt quite so bad anymore.

i see Charles Mingus crying like cool jazz.
i see Lauren's head in my lap.
i see The Stranger spin on the turntable.
i see a broken night.
i see haze high near the ceiling.
i see headphone cords, whose ends hurt my ears.
i see the same chord progressions driving me mad.
i see love fading in a passerby's eyes.
i see chapped lips.
i see my debit card, i run it as credit.
i see the 10 foot tall stack of paperwork on my desk.
i see my know-it-all confidence.
I see my god complex.
I see your god complex, and know mine is greater.
i see ***, smell it, hear it, taste it, feel it, want it.
i see cars stampeding towards me down the hill.
i see neon signs for strip clubs.
i see prophetic signs, i ignore them.
i see my professor's approval.
i see computer screens.
i see my finger reject the call from a former fling.
i see ****** music.
i see sad faces, day after day.
i see my mind disconnected from my body.
i see boys in fraternities.
i see girls in barely anything at all.
i see my roommates and i yell for no reason--- we laugh.
i see society coming to eat me alive.
i see when i trip.
i see when i get up.
i see when i don't.
i see when i let my friends down.
i see when i pick them up.
i see my eyes closed.
i don't see what they want from me.

trace patterns that never
cease to replicate.
I keep you going forever,
pop culture ******.
but my fickle mind is ever-changing.
talk of overdose, divorce,
ego, graffiti.
I paint all across your face
my own art.
I make you taste the love
and hate and love and
wait
tell me what to do to rebel.
do I cut myself and lap up the metal red
in carnal hunger?
frenzy me in music and
******* misconduct policies.
no, pop culture ******.
no, no, no, no, no!
help me out, man
plead again!
pick me up, man
dyfunctional family ain't near enough
petrol to sustain this fire or keep a smile
and I got no match to strike in the first place.

now my
destination unknown
the
first stop suicide
the priest asks me to produce my rosary.
I can't.
he says,
"fame or martyrdom then? we don't have enough to
give you both, kid."
I chose ambiguity as the way to go,
no street
no job
skipped the name.
pop culture ****** wants out of the puzzle and
into the game.
pop culture ****** wants out of the computer and
into the machine.
we tell them life is pretty.
abattoir for slaughterhouse so
no one asks questions.

sweat drips down my face,
the floor swims beneath me
and smoke ribbons out of my mouth and nose.
mid-summer in an Arabic bar
with some ******* touching the dancer all over
and saying "*******" over and over again.

he stares at her hips.

the mirror is on one side of me,
and one half of a pair of speakers is beside
my ear.
it's gigantic.

it blares music that my friend tells
me is from some new Bollywood movie.
two hands grab mine and i'm up.
one link in a circle, dancing a
Middle-Eastern two-step that's only slightly
familiar.

faces come in and out of my line of sight.
i recognize none
and feel as if i'm in a Salman Rushdie novel.
maybe i'm Haroun, in a new place with a blue genie
saving a sea of stories, a princess, a land, and my father.
but then again, maybe not.

i would never save my father.

i spin, spin, spin
until i can't see straight.

i wake the next morning on the belly
dancers couch.
my friends are having coffee with her
and discussing whether or not to
take me to the hospital.

Nadia found some blow in my pocket
and flushed it down the toilet.
she found *** in the other and put it back.

they had decided to let me sleep
and from then on call me "American Dream."

we didn’t leave until 4 am.
told each other stories from high school
talked about religion and how it wasn’t really my thing,
and how she wasn’t really sure of her take on it,
examined our hands and compared the sizes,
discussed how she used to be a cheerleader,
our parents and their political tendencies,
and some mutual friends.

I already knew about her ex-boyfriend
through a mutual friend or two,
the self-proclaimed ******* of our generation,
trying too hard to be hip and who probably
***** himself to pictures of Kerouac and Hemingway.
all this while listening to Iron & Wine
‘cause that makes it art.

yeah. I knew about him.

and I had heard he claimed to respect women
from a couple of people.
and a couple of people told me he didn’t.
a conniving schemer disguised as a feminist,
nothing new.

I also knew about the ******* she'd
been "talking to" or some **** like that.
it didn't seem to matter much to me
or to her
so I figured that was all right.

we left the pancake joint and went back to her
place.
watched a Tarantino film and chatted about
deep topics carelessly,
exhaling want.

she shared some of her writing with me
and as morning approached
we locked arms and bodies,
her chin on my shoulder and
I snuck a kiss in her hair.
at once, our skin seemed in the way,
a barrier between us I wished to strip.

her roommate and a mutual friend
awoke and I waited while they got
ready and Lauren grabbed breakfast.

on the way out to my car,
following the two of them
I thought of past lovers and dismissed them
as I ate my heart out of my hands
and waited for my mind to settle,
but instead it rattled about all the how's
and why's of my draw.
I buried the key in the ignition,
we pulled away from away and towards
together.