It's nice to remember
who I am, ever since
Eros shot a quiver
of arrows into my chest
and spun me around
sending me aimlessly
towards the first
man shaped pinata.
Swinging blindly
into the darkness
of my blind fold
waiting for the thud
of hearts hitting the ground
and shattering into hundreds
of tiny sweets
begging, to be cherished
and gobbled up
by a school yard
kind of love.

I am wiping Chinese
and Jesus off of coffee
tables. Pulling sheep
sheets down from
windows and mirrors
from bedroom walls.
I am trying to swallow
the dog hair stuck
in my throat, from
sleeping with mongrels.
I am watching days
pass on pillows
that smell of sweat
and cologne. I am
watching him finally
fade and pass into
the past. I am
loving you with
seventy five percent
of my heart, but you
have your hands on
the rest and are not
letting go. I am
wiping Chinese
and Jesus off
of coffee tables
and you are
pulling his pictures
down from
my heart.

I wish I was your little
whiskey girl and you
were pouring yourself
into my bottle to come
drink me up.

But you drained me
dryer than the Savannah.
Now men build boats
inside me, and I haven't
a corkscrew to get out.

I wish I was your little
*** doll and you were
dizzy over me, slurring
I love you's and burning
with me in your throat.

But you don't drink
expensive liquor anymore
not since you spent your money
on losing lottery tickets
and vinyl.

I'm top shelf
but that is only because
you put me there
to forget about me.
And now you drown
yourself in wells,
blacking out
the parts of you
that loved me.

I lit the candle
with two hydros,
and burned the house
down with a bottle
of whiskey. The next
morning I wandered
through the ashes
looking for shower
invitations and aspirin.

Back in bars, filled
with screaming amps
and glaring ex lovers
I wove my way
in-between old friends
and mating dances,
losing Hemingway
and storm clouds.

I dropped the anchor
in your apartment,
falling mid sentence
into stain ridden furniture
and empty Budweiser bottles.
The only thing I broke
that night, was my determination
on not being a blow up doll
molded after some girl
I was never going to be.

So I laid there kissing
ghosts and shook
with a fever and chills
vibrating like telephones
on silent. And you wondered
where I went once
the door closed.

You can't define cordial as
branding someone
and mailing them back
to a delusional soul falling
in love with them
after. Hot metal
pokers weren't made
for joyous reunions.
They make sure you
always know where
you leave your scars.

I want to apologize;
write to you, my dear
John, and tell you that
it's not that I didn't love
you, it was that I knew
that you didn't.

I smiled when you asked
if you could 'make love'
to me, like two teens
playing hide and go
seek in a half-furnished
basement with your parents
above.

Oblivious to their
participation in our juvenile
game. We were ****
and half listening for footsteps
descending, announcing,
READY OR NOT HERE I COME!

His memory followed me
onto the floor with you
and I couldn't come
clean, confess
that it wasn't that I
was a mirror reflection
of your former lover,
but that it was his memory
that ****** my mind into
submission.

I want to apologize and
write to you, my dear,
John, and tell you that
it's not that I didn't love
you, it was that I knew
that I was chasing shadows
and you were the high noon
Sun, chasing them away.

When  2012 happened
I was sprayed with champagne
in a room with painted dragons
on the walls and my forty closest
friends were kissing and smiling.
Boys with long hair wrestled
and the cab outside honked
until the neighbors yelled
profanities and it fell silent.
Ex lovers ran for cover,
as cigarettes rained from decaying
porches with rusted wrought iron
awnings. A grey tattered sweat
filled shirt read 'you'll be old,
someday' and the skirts
were too short and covered
with glitter. I hid in a corner
on a rocking recliner, dressed
like Audrey Hepburn's stunt double
wishing my lip locks had meant
something other than 'we're alone,
and loveless.' Amazing Grace
rang loud from twenty out of tune
voices, the sound of a cruise ship
colliding with an iceberg in the Atlantic.
I thought about my mother
alone with a dog and a hot air balloon
puzzle, while her family was off pretending
to want to be where they were.
I thought about your grin and who
your midnight moment was with,
and I wondered if you wore the same
masquerade of happiness,
or if like me, you had already stopped
faking it.

Three
*******
Months;
and I would have choked
myself to death with a baby's
umbilical chord, singing
the Ave Maria for you,
if you had just asked.
Two hundred and eight days
to be sober of the taste
of your ***** in my mouth.
Only falling off the wagon
once or twice, with a simple
beckoning. But, smacking
my face on the black top
each time, left a few bruises
and violet eyes, abrupt
reminders that there were reasons
I was riding away in the first place.
I think I'd still skin a live jackal
or stick my head in an alligator's
mouth for you. Proving
that you were wrong
about everything, except
my brake pads.