Mar 2013
It was 10pm when I decided to leave my apartment
there was snow on the ground
patchy from the dry cold half winter half sun heat
I decided to check the mail
I had been drinking three dollar wine for hours staring at old paintings on the wall
paintings of kansas
paintings of tornadoes
paintings of Van Gough
I had written a poem on the wall
dedicated to the cockroaches and lamp posts of new york city
I wrote it in lipstick and spanish
I opened the mailbox
I felt the moon on my shoulder
I saw a shadow that wasn't mine behind a fence
it was from Florida
a woman I had once fallen in love with
with her brown hair curly like that of smoke of a cigarette
it read “i miss you”
I had decided to die right there
with the half melted snow
the half grown grass that was green and brown
the cigarette butts
the broken glass
with the moon still on my shoulder
a thousand miles behind winters blanket of clouds
I decided to die there
lighting a cigarette
wet from my lips
I lied down
with the orange letter in my hand
with the orange cigarette lightbug in my mouth
smoke dancing out like Amazonian women in heat
I pictured swamps
I pictured the city on fire
I pictured her naked in my hands
giving her self up to me
letting me have her lips and her legs and her stomach and her love
in the distant
behind the city buildings ears and belly button lint and sirens and swing music and the flickering of beer bottle caps and the burning of tobacco
from lips to tongue to throat to lung
then back out
in a ball of stretched smoke
headed only to the clouds up above
which angels and the moon slept behind
It would have been good to die there
the ground felt good
I thought of Texas
rivers
cow skulls on top of lamps
I thought of Mother and her
rose bottled liquor
I hought of Father
and his eyes that were enormous with
poverty and Tommy Hilfiger sweaters
I thought of
Her
alone in florida
full of sun
full of days and full of nights
I thought of Death
and how he must envy me
I smoke cigarettes to make it easy on him
he knows I wont go
without a fight
without spit in his hollow eye
without my blood
on his fur coat
when he comes in winter on a horse
or a Cadillac from the 1930's
I thought of many brave men
drinking their hearts
their bellies
their eyesockets to sleep
with Tall bottles of gloriously cheap whiskey
I thought of war
and I thought of lighting another cigarette
but it was cold
and I decided to go inside
with my windows
with my Van Gogh paintings
with my blind cat who purred at the dishwasher
there was snow on the ground
patchy from the dry cold half winter half sun heat
I decided to check the mail
I had been drinking three dollar wine for hours staring at old paintings on the wall
paintings of kansas
paintings of tornadoes
paintings of Van Gough
I had written a poem on the wall
dedicated to the cockroaches and lamp posts of new york city
I wrote it in lipstick and spanish
I opened the mailbox
I felt the moon on my shoulder
I saw a shadow that wasn't mine behind a fence
it was from Florida
a woman I had once fallen in love with
with her brown hair curly like that of smoke of a cigarette
it read “i miss you”
I had decided to die right there
with the half melted snow
the half grown grass that was green and brown
the cigarette butts
the broken glass
with the moon still on my shoulder
a thousand miles behind winters blanket of clouds
I decided to die there
lighting a cigarette
wet from my lips
I lied down
with the orange letter in my hand
with the orange cigarette lightbug in my mouth
smoke dancing out like Amazonian women in heat
I pictured swamps
I pictured the city on fire
I pictured her naked in my hands
giving her self up to me
letting me have her lips and her legs and her stomach and her love
in the distant
behind the city buildings ears and belly button lint and sirens and swing music and the flickering of beer bottle caps and the burning of tobacco
from lips to tongue to throat to lung
then back out
in a ball of stretched smoke
headed only to the clouds up above
which angels and the moon slept behind
It would have been good to die there
the ground felt good
I thought of Texas
rivers
cow skulls on top of lamps
I thought of Mother and her
rose bottled liquor
I hought of Father
and his eyes that were enormous with
poverty and Tommy Hilfiger sweaters
I thought of
Her
alone in florida
full of sun
full of days and full of nights
I thought of Death
and how he must envy me
I smoke cigarettes to make it easy on him
he knows I wont go
without a fight
without spit in his hollow eye
without my blood
on his fur coat
when he comes in winter on a horse
or a Cadillac from the 1930's
I thought of many brave men
drinking their hearts
their bellies
their eyesockets to sleep
with Tall bottles of gloriously cheap whiskey
I thought of war
and I thought of lighting another cigarette
but it was cold
and I decided to go inside
with my windows
with my Van Gogh paintings
with my blind cat who purred at the dishwasher
