I scratched out the names but let me tell you about them

He sits in the sun talks of life
as a passion, he’s tried to **** himself twice
once in a car, once with pills and cheap *****
now he jumps off tall things like cliffs and
antennas and people’s shallowness but he uses a parachute
which seems necessary
he jumps and the blood forgetting it is blood
nothing matters
he tells me it’s the closest humans will ever get to
flying.

The next
He sits in the shades of his four walls.
He can drink a bottle of gin and still drive
To his ex-girlfriend’s house and break his teeth
against the window. He takes pictures of alley ways
and flatlands which make up all the tiny pieces of
America. He screams at night, plays golf and tells me
simple things that make more sense than theology and philosophy,
things like Be Cool and Life Takes Time. Billboard truths.

She presses her lips against a strong sky,
a thing she hopes to believe in. she meditates daily and swears
she’s seen her soul make breakfast and burn the toast.
She floats so well people call her a Queen. If I could be level
headed she’d be my wife. She’s been hiding her perfection
and she knows it, it might be why nervous breakdowns are part
of her diet. She has made meaning out of thin air, I’ve seen it done.