we had orange juice in jelly glasses
          that taste so fine
and a hundred broken promises
          standing in a line
you touched me with such tenderness
          it felt just right
to see you stretched out on my mattress
          in the morning light

we had white wine and compromise
          to last all night
bundled me off to nothingness
          without a fight
you spoke to me with such finesse
          as though a sign
with a hundred millions empty lies
          none of them mine

they say dreams
are the garbage of your day.

i agree.

considering my life
consists entirely of
garbage,

there is nothing left
to do than to conclude
that yes,

my life is garbage
my dreams are garbage
therefore,
i am garbage.

but garbage gets taken out
and picked up by men
every week.
so I guess I can't be
garbage
after all.

I lent you dog-earred Bukowski,
                           you returned it unread.

I don't have walls
rather fences
your brain could hop