She gets high.
I get high.
She gets drunk.
I get drunk.

I get high.
She spills sapphire.
I get drunk.
She spills unleaded.

She gets high.
She gets drunk.

I get high.
I get drunk.

I slow down for you.
I am a tortoise.

I arrange caution tape
from one dream
to another
until I'm afraid
to remember dreams.

Tonight I am an astronaut
in between an old woman
who smells like ink, sudoku, and *****,
and a window with a full moon
that is held in the sky by a wing.

I'd like to tell her
what everybody thinks
when they fly.
I'd tell her
what it would be like
if we crashed
and I had to choose
between her
and myself.

Selfishly I would choose myself.
My mother could not outlive me.
Yet, she could be my mother's mother.
She could have seen the full moon
from the backseat of a Model T
or from her back in a desert
that is now Las Vegas or Phoenix
or full moons from ninety years or full moons.

But this plane will not crash
and I will not have to choose
yet I am still repulsed.
I'll too be old. Soon.
Tomorrow, maybe.
Yet, I promise
I will not smell of ****
or fly in a plane
without a seat
next to a window
so I could see the full moon
from outer space.

I drove the rental car through a tree
as we continued on towards the ranch.
Saddled up hand measured horses and rode through the park.

Monster trees would have shadowed skyscrapers.
The bravest of birds nested only halfway,
for even feathered wings stall at that altitude.

The damnedest thing was the pine-cones,
golf ball-sized spheres
falling from giants.


It's a bumpy ride on a leather saddle,
a bit painful, too.
You smirked and said you needed a drink,
hell, so did I.

Later in Eureka California we walked to Ray's Saddle,
an old western bar with a wooden red patio,
fake cowboy mannequins gracing the entrance
pistols drawn, not ready to fire.

Our dry mouths megan to irrigate,
our sore bottoms limped through the door,
and the damnedest thing;
the bar stools were rawhide saddles.

I warned you;

I’d ruin you.

I am nothing but a jagged shard of glass
Protruding from the Earth's surface.
Perhaps if you casted me out to sea
And waited for my remains
To wash up on shore years from now,
Worn from the saltwater and sand,
I will be polished and shaped
Into a smoothed gem,
Worthy enough to catch an eye,
To be held up to the sun,
Then dropped back to Earth
And buried beneath the waves.

She is a house,
More like a cottage.
Small, quiet, quaint,
We all know the kind.
She is kind,
Her doors are unlocked,
And everyone is welcome.
Many come and go,
And some she wishes would stay,
But she understands
That there are other houses
That they want to visit, too.

From the road she looks perfect,
Like the house you want to settle in,
Raise a family,
Grow old and pass away in.
But when you get close
Enough to smell her wildflowers
Sitting on the porch,
You can see her pastel paint,
Peeling and cracking from
The sun's rays.
You can hear the floor squeak
From years of slight mistreatment.
You see the tiny nicks and scratches
On the furniture,
And the once polished silver
Is beginning to cloud.

The fireplace isn't quite warm enough,
The walls aren't quite thick enough,
The roof leaks here and there
In the heavy rainstorms.
Maybe she isn't the house
You want to settle in,
Raise a family in,
Grow old and pass away in.

But for now she will do,
Because she offers some warmth.
And in the morning you will leave,
Possibly visit another house,
Or cottage,
Or mansion.
But her fire will still be lit,
Her furniture will still be there,
And her doors will still be unlocked.

I am not a barely passing score.
I am not a C- on
Last week's Algebra test.

I am not the hours spent
With my nose in a textbook,
Trying to solve a puzzle
That I will never use again.

I am not constant late nights
That are wasted studying
And stressing for my future;
A future that I'm supposed
To figure out right now.

I am not the answer that I need
When I raise my hand to ask "Why?"
And the teacher just ignores
My question, once again.

I am simply a human,
Attempting to find a place in this life,
Trying to grow and learn in wisdom.
**And wisdom is not a barely passing score

******** doesn't quite satisfy me.
I trip, fall, and stumble
As I search for a better term
To describe this so-called
"Relationship" between us.
But I suppose it will do,
Because that's all this really is:

********