Mindlessly minding my day
Finding comfort with a glass of Bailey’s
I think her name was Hayley, goodness
Long and beautiful hair, very difficult not to stare
Had me thinking of sinful things while I’m munching on chicken wings

Her smile was illuminating, her style rejuvenating
Gave my friends that extra reason to stick around for a while
We were planning a collision course, gaining an endorsement
Eye contact initiated, very little forcing, and well

I come closer to her, our eyes were meeting
Dropping some bad jokes, thinking "what a terrible greeting'"
But she giggled, liked the attempt; that caught me off guard
Grabbing my arm, took me away and felt a sense of satisfaction

The two of us secluded and I felt the attraction
Her body was a temple you couldn’t help but admire
She had a silky dark skintight dress causing a fire
Walking on those black leather boots - a dame I desired
                                                         ­     
Running from harder times, escaping to the abyss
She told me it’s hard to find an honest man who assists
Hoping that things would change and searching for honest assistance
I promise her a better future with a man who listens

With a feeling of inspiration, end up leaving the club
Rewarded for my instigation, Hayley's squeezing a hug
Within minutes we make our way across the popular pubs
Reaching my place also with haste, kicked off the shoes on the rug

Speak the language of the mental, hunger reaches my head
Stroking her hair, gasping for air while laying on my bed
Her body screamed for attention; did I forget to mention
My ability to keep her guessing made her want to kiss me
And wish to mission it to Hawaii? God I loved her body.

Exhausted, our love-making was tremendously physical
Suddenly, one-night stand broken, damage is critical
Liquor leaks on the mental window, pleasure is minimal

The next morning rises, we're falling apart
Hayley regrets while getting dressed, not knowing where to start
She's thanking me and quite thankfully wants to see me again
But under different circumstances, so I fall where I stand

It ain’t a story for the faint of heart but mine was fainting
Broken heart, I wrote the part hoping that she was waiting patiently
But she came and went, the world is evil again
Just like a *** left in the cold, unbearable to withstand

Think I'm grateful? Meaningless love, eerily painful.
Victim of the curse: caring too much.
Victim of the curse: sharing too much.

Hayley Fienne scattered herself a year ago today. A hammer. A trigger. I sent flowers to a funeral home in Chandler, OK. I called. Said, "I can't imagine what you are going through" and something about how time turns the past into a form of fiction. DeLillo wrote that, I think.

Her mom said, "That's not true. That's not true."

And I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't known Hayley like I knew Hayley. She used to do these oil paintings on the nights she knew she wasn't going to class in the morning. I've a layman's knowledge of visual art but even I could tell her work was real. As opposed to what? I don't know. You just felt it. It kicked you in the gut, left you spinning around the room, asking every ******* in tweed, "Can I get some water?"

There was one large canvas in particular that stuck out. She called it "Dissolution."

The work depicted a seemingly amorphous spiral of headlight blues and star whites against the murky black of space. In the dead center of the piece she painted the face of a young man, broken into quadrants. The face was nothing more than a faint veil. If you scanned the canvas, you'd miss it.

When she showed the piece at a gallery event, featuring the work of outgoing seniors, I asked her who the man was.

"It's Jesus."

"You gave him a shave."

"It's actual Jesus. It's 'I'm thinking of converting to Buddhism' Jesus. It's lonely, masturbatory Jesus. It's the Jesus who stares at a ceiling fan wondering why Peter won't text him back," she said. "And above all, it's the Jesus God asks a little too much of, the Jesus that calls in sick."

I said I was unaware such a Jesus existed.

"Exists. Dealing with impossible quotas, he has to shave."

"I think your Jesus looks like you."

"He is."



Now it's a year later. I find comfort in the painting, allowing the erratic brush strokes, both fleeing and advancing, to lull me to--what? Just lull, I grant, aimless and asking answerless questions.

I think about her at the end, at her end-- but not the violence of it all. No, I think of the release.

No intended romance. I simply wonder how she would have wanted that final let-go in life's calendar marked by letting-goes to wrap. I imagine her body separating from her mind, her mind separating from her memories, her memories separating from her name. I think of her matter fractured and dispersed, directed where the universe, in its imperialistic expanse, requires.

I call her mom. Say, "I can't believe it's been a year" and something about how outer space makes me think of Hayley.

Her mom says, "I don't understand."



After I hang up I look at the painting. I look at Hayley's Jesus. And I think in memories, memories that may or may not have happened, I think of them in my chest--not my head. I think about mercy. I think about the infinite. And is there a place where they intersect?

Someday I wanna stack neon cowboy boots til they reach the solar system. I wrote Leslie today and she said, "Hey, love is what I got. Remember that." Pennies are x’d out. Cut me Sally. Only 1 apple-tooth *****. But now I realize that that didn’t make any sense. Tell Christina that I work at Arby’s. She told popcorn that we are a portrait of an American toad. Sorry. She won’t talk to me. She hates me now. I know it all. World will end for me under a fallen tree. Confusing is love. Serious, sadly enough Christ is dead *****. That’s my boyfriend! Sad Sad Sad Sad Sad Sad. Let me down. 2288 is a strange………………… number to sell a video for. I smoked *******. RATS, SCROTUMS, YOU’RE A *****! Scoot over you ***** ***. I don’t even know you or *******. Hayley, now that I think of it, is a tight, beautiful, powerful…… I hate her. She has blonde hair and I look way too much. I’ll go shopping now. Tina will hate me for lusting Hayley. So I’ll go on to Mr. G himself. Shazaam! He is in a boy prison where the boys are molested. I cry. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Watch out, I do this to everyone. I love myself only and can drop you without hurting. But I love Christyn. Despite Christina’s rage she is still just a rat in a cage. She does it all! It’s her! She, her, she. Hershey. I love you Christyn and my mom is my dream. I stay alive, maybe rooting for the Green Bay Packers. I want to **** in Grayson’s face. I have to go, my milk is over there. He has lice, but it doesn’t matter cuz he takes his hair off anyway. Colon cleansing for sale! And I got a new girlfriend, she looks a lot like you dear. They pass me up. And if they don’t it’s only cuz I smoke acid(that’s funny). Or I don’t want to have ***. I hate ***. It’s Casie’s fault. I thought it was OURS! I ****** HER, SHE WAS MINE!!!!

Hello ******. My gums are bleeding everywhere cuz I play so much. Why can’t Hayley like me? Why is Christyn faking? Why go home? says Eddie. James is in prison for **** he did. Robert is in prison for stabbing this dude. It’s a good thing that my new cats are gone cuz I’d get hell. Black man is funnier and prettier. I eat Arby’s stacked in my trashcan. Why do they laugh? I’ll just stop now. I’ll **** myself cuz of you. I saw Rachel walking today. She’s sooooo pretty. Untrendy cuz I love her so. No rap, just Beastie Boys and marijuana. I take showers with Stephanie on the side, so don’t be surprised. She cuts underneath her legs. I want to hold her for lifetimes on a mattress of air. This is good ****. Please help. Aye Davinita. I’m not happy without your dreads, Docs, and beautiful…… But Hayley is too. Tell her that. She’ll **** me. I’ll never be enough for her. I’m white. What?! How do I not blow up?! Gotta go **** a monkey. So ****** me soon. Sleep sleep. Hayley, Rachel, Casie, Michelle, I rest in peace now.