Has the moon ever winked at you?
It's 9 AM and the hills are breathing out
and the birds are screaming at the sun.
I walk around the block-
whiskey in my coffee, coffee in my hand, because I'm not ready for last night to be over.
And the moon,
she agrees.

instead of forgetting you
i could forget why you really smiled
take your smile and arrange it within a shrine
of all the kind things you did for me
and all of the sweet dimensions you added to my world

if i could remove her from your line of sight
or the humiliating things you said to our friends
or remove your fifth ***** soda in an hour
or the cigarette smoke you blew in my face
or the drugs you keep pulling out from your pocket
or if i could
remove
the context
of
your
happiness
whatever it will take to remember us fondly

She makes my cheeks blush violet
with her indifference,

while I stand 
on the bones of our history

Old Gloria and I was the light of times-

times
 past.

Summer was a night,
 a night that used to pay for her own ride home
and 
I would lie begging at her feet 

My jar hadn’t caught but one breath and

she disappears down the winding road
heading south 

All pink faded, 

my complexion turned an icy tone,

as the car exhaust rose into the midnight sky

It’s judging million eyes

blinking back at me as a gentle reminder:

not all things that are glow 
are 

still 
alive

Do you ever feel your hand cinching up the paper, your knuckles are white, and you have the urge to swallow the words down your throat only for them to spew back out of your mouth with fire on their edges from the overflowing ashtray gone viral sitting next to him while he tapped at the keys hoping this page would carry some meaning, some worth larger than the pile of
discarded justice,
discarded wisdom,
discarded worth,
discarded youth
Do you ever let the curls on the side of your mouth point due north after you found a nakedness behind a sentence and you know they can see you now like all the others with their white knuckles, blistered hands, fiery eyes, and bruised knees bowing to the pile of un-cinched papers lying beside their empty ashtray next to a bottle capable of doing your self deprecation for you
but -stop
Stop looking in the mirror and just let the curls lift while they stare