i know  you mean nothing to me.
i know you wish you did.
it's unfair for me to call you
to bring you in from the cold
promising a warm bed and
a body to sleep next to.
i promise arms
and lips
i put on perfume
and lipstick.

i tell you
what you find tonight fades in the sun
you say you dont mind
but the rest of you
sings a different song.
i choose to ignore it.

tonight
we love each other
tonight
we are everything
we would
ever
need.

i wish it was this easy
and sometimes i think
maybe the love will come later
with some work.
but we both know
such lies can
ruin lives.
so we take it one night at a time
making no promises
nothing sure
nothing steady
plunging heart first
into a tornado
hoping it will spit us out on
a sunnier side of the world

lost my job today.
and
i started drinking cause
well
i have nothing to do tommorow.

i cried a bit
but quickly realized
it did nothing
but give me a headache.

i should worry
of course
about rent
about food
about all the other bills
crushing me to death.
i should worry about a lot.

but for right now
right this very second,
i'm just sitting
drinking and writing
like all of you readers
asked me how my day was.

all i have
right now
right this very second
is a cold beer
and four more in the fridge.

and for some reason...
that's just fine.
and
i'm not worried
at all...

the woman.
she is no more than
a lump of formless clay,
pure, vast, and unfiltered potential.

he was a songwriter.
promising to sand, shape, and polish.
skimming through her journal and jotting down
shorthand versions of a heart.

he was a stressed money maker
who wanted practical usefulness.
a pillar of support that got only the pleasure
of being part of a palace.

he was a writer.
who got her drunk and scribbled notes as she talked
and called it writing together
after the fact.

he was a teacher.
who only wanted to show her what she could be,
if only
she let him...

from cup,
to vase,
to ashtray,
to bust.

the clay cracks and varnish is sometimes chipped away
fire and tempered shell crushed to dust
only to be reused again,
as flour on a forming table.

the he in these landscapes is not to blame
for readily available medium
calling out for artists hands.

sometimes clay just wants to be clay,
and it has the right to decide,
when it feels like
being something more.

he said
"that's what i want...a good hard rain"
and the next day it rained.

watching the heavy drops bombard
the small broken house i hide in. i wait
waiting for a leak to spring.
waiting for buckets filling up with rain water
making that uneven
plinking,
                                         plopping,
                plonking,
dripping,
                            dropping,
music that drives me mad and puts the dogs to sleep.
waiting for the rivers to creep in under the doors
and dampen furniture so it wont dry till june.
waiting for the cold wind that blows right through the windows
and the power to fail
like it does,
every time it rains.

he wanted a good hard rain
and it's here.

he will walk in,
all smiles and dripping drops and muddy foot prints
"isn't it wonderful? isn't it perfect?!"
and i
wrapped in yards of blankets and layers of ripped clothing
will agree and try to ignore his laughter
at my misery.

i am not your toy.
i can not be stored away
in the dark and dust
till you decide you want to
play.

you tell me how much you care
just not like that
as you sift through the pools of
our discarded clothes.
you assure me it was all in fun
and of the good times we had
and maybe if i'm lucky
the good times i have to come.

you were out the door
before the pillow was cold.
and i was smoking the cig
you left me.
i finish up the tasks that were beyond you
and lay satisfied and sleepy
laughing at
your promise of attention later
if it worked out.

weeks passed
and one day
you storm
through
all **** and vinagar
cause you heard of good times
i found
on my own.

you throw all the old
sticks and stones
hooting and hollering
over so much spilt milk.

you never understood did you?
never really got a handle on the fact
that tied down means tied down
together
if you want to be free
then
you're free
and i'm free
and this free woman
acts accordingly.

i am not a toy
that can be stored away
in the dark and dust till
you decide
you want to
play.

and
i'm not sorry
not for a second.

i find myself watching your mouth.
i can almost taste your taste.
i can almost feel the soft graze of your lips
on my neck

if i really think about it hard enough...
i can feel our teeth clack in a rough kiss.

sometimes i find myself watching your hands.
they stir up dreams so vivid they could pass for memory.

...rough calused man's hands.
hands that could handle my fury.
hands that could set the world on fire.

what would they feel like?
such rough hands feeling out
the softest parts of me.

i imagine those hands in my hair...

“i don’t know where i’m going…but i’m not coming back here.”
you blurted out,
loud enough so we all could hear,
unafraid and unapologetic.

i was upset at first, but then
i was suddenly glad.
you were always bigger then this place.
i had to be happy for you.
you saw that big something
out there,
and you were the first to notice the freighting rate at which this town was drying up.

so,  
go then,
there are other worlds then these.
these dried up ghost towns hold nothing but rotting piles of memories,
discarded beer cans and
the few of us
left behind.

i drown that part of me that wants to clamp down
and hold you tight before you notice the cage door shutting.
i know you are not a pet to be kept,
but the sight of your bright colors is enough to make me miss your song
and drunkenly beg you to stay.

fly away little birdie.
you were always bigger then this town,
bigger then this skeleton crew of
drunk could have been somebodies
who always remember way back whens, when things were better.
when we didn’t have to choose sides and
decide if we were staying or going.
fly away and leave us with the memory of what you were to us.
you can be the star of the stories
told over and over,
laughing,
choking,
dripping red,
wiping our eyes and telling of the times
we were lucky enough to be there.
you were always bigger than us,
and we all knew this day would come.

i haven't had a drink in months.
but the bottle in the freezer
tugs at my sleeve.
sweet and slippery
down the throat and into the gullet
it wouldn't be hard.

to take just one day to say
**** all
and lay in a pile
of my own
listlessness.

thirsty voices shout
about how all that is well
is bound to spoil.
and they remind me that
dawn is always followed by dark nights
and that tomorrow is my day off anyway.

they whisper...
wallow,
drink,
drown,
give up and float in the only
steady arms you have known
in a long
long time.

just one day
of the old shine.
just one day
of the old you.
we never did formally say goodbye
and you would hate to be rude.

He is coming home in six days.
back from his real life.
far away from
this choking town
he had to get away from.
far away from
the family,
that never understood him.
far away from me,
the girl who,
just happened to be in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

he will come back
and everything will be like it was.
we will laugh again
and drink again
and reminisce of times long gone
again.
i will remember how much i loved him
and he will want a warm body to sleep next to
again.

this sad little cycle
is all we have left.
and he get's to leave
weeks from now,
with his hands clean
and the memory already fading
of this choking little town,
of the family that never understood,
and of that girl that
was just in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

an airy happiness
that shocks at first.
but to puzzle over it would be
to wipe it away,
to burn it away like
an early morning fog.

i bask in it
worries hanging around
chiming in every now and again
but for the first time
in a long time
i can wave them away
the buzzing flies they are
they will be back
but not right now.

i dance and sway
in the
clear and sunny day
no trace of the grey clouds
that hid the stars last night.

for some reason
everything just fits into place.
i am happy
in this
same old house
with the same dogs
chewing the same couch
or even the same rats chewing
on the same walls
while i chew the same toast
and drink the same bitter coffee
cause i'm out of sugar
again.

everything fits
and even though you've
been gone days
weeks now...
i am happy.
my mind wants to stray
but i wont let it.
i hold on tight
and imagine i am sitting
on a high cliff
feet dangling
sea busting below
air threatening to whip me away.
i jump and
fall into the couch.
i can't help but
smile.

sitting here at 3 a.m.
deciding whether or not to
leave you.

my bags have been packed for weeks.
hidden among the piles of ***** laundry.

i know you love me,
i'm the one who is not so sure anymore...

how did it fade so fast?
how did it get so ****** up?

we did start in
all
the wrong ways.
we had so much hurt so early on...
so much to forget when the memories should have
just been starting.

the buses will start running soon.

it's unfair of me to do this...
i know...
but i am a coward.

you will have so many questions,
and i won't have a single answer...

it's better this way.

I woke up to my life today,
and I couldn't stop crying.
It stretched out before me
for  years and years
and years.

i'm lonely.
this house is too big,
and the walls have been the same shade of
pale blue
for
too long.

when he comes to me
he reminds me of everything
i ever wanted
in
someone.

it's not hard.
i just,
act the same way he does.
and we pretend,
she doesn't exist.

we haven't ******.
not yet.

but we stare,
and we watch.
we glance,
and we fight the smile.

fingers linger while passing
and sometimes
we can't resist falling into
each others arms
and holding tight
for a few terrifying seconds.

trembling,
smelling each others smell,
burying our heads in the sand.
pretending,
that no one in the world
can see us,
and this
is how it could
and should
always be.


then we let go.
only our eyes, thoughts,
and those sweet smells
lingering.

i'm lonely
and maybe he is too.

it's wrong
and i know it.
but these days,
the morals,
which i remember having,
aren't enough to make me say

no.
we can't.

i'm lonely.
and that's enough
to think

maybe we can...

i wish i were drunk.
it's hot as hell and you dropped
another hint that it stopped
being fun for you weeks ago.

i did what i could
but what i could do
wasn't enough and
you suddenly decided
i'm not what you're looking for.
the used car in the lot
you just had to test drive.
yes, it's the right price
but god look at those dents...

i'm sick of the ****
the windows are painted shut
it's just me and the heat
trapped in this **** house...

i pour myself a glass
jack over ice
and sit staring out the window
wishing it bothered me more that you left.
lack of tears just prove it
doomed from the start

i knew this time would come
i knew it
hell
i caused it.
being happy too long is for suckers anyway.

the ***** helps my head
and the heat
sweaty and
suddenly bored with
brooding over your
tantrum

i find a cig in the couch
light it
and blow choking clouds
maybe my luck is starting to turn...

walk slow with me
cause love isn't easy
my heart is haunted by
the ghosts of pain
torn through
leaving weak and brittle pieces
glued together.

walk slow
through the rain
at night
as we look at houses
and talk long winded talks
about all the heavy subjects
children
talk about.

we run and we fall
scraping knees
and bruising egos
and making a huge mess of
a once good thing.

walk slow
i begged
but you had to run
to jump
leap and fly
and now
it's all behind you
a misty dream that may
or may not have
really happened.

and still i stroll along
wondering when
if ever
you'll come back
and tell tall tales
of all those wonderful things
you saw
way up there in the sky.

gray sky warns of sun soon to come
and the slow hum of a world waking
accents the quiet.

you're heavy next to me,
anxious thoughts
tumble to the floor,
streaming steady,
like draining sand.

yesterday is fading
and i can't bring myself to look into a tomorrow becoming today.

you're gone already,
the tickets tucked away in your purse.
i'm holding a promise,
prolonging memory.

the sun is quick and persistent.
i **** myself for not closing
the ******* curtains
when you asked me to.

ring,
i tell the phone.
be anyone.
i don't care who.

i would even take a bill collector right now.
at least we would have
something
to talk about.

it's dark
and i'm alone and drunk
again
and i just want someone
to call.

i want a warm voice
to hold back the dark
i want to know that i'm
not the only one alive
in the world at
this
very moment.

ring
i tell the phone
bring me good news or
good friends promising
good times.

i don't want ***,
i don't want to be held,
i don't want sweet nothings.
i want someone to drink with
someone to talk
deep talks with
i want you
to ring.

ring ******.
ring.

this misery wants company
this no one
wants someone.

ring.
please ring.

hold on and
believe
that we can make it
better.

hold on
through my fighting.
and know
that i want to make it work.

how do i begin to tell you
how sorry i am
for being
the way i am?

how can you do,
all the things i ask of you?
to understand my actions fully
and still
love me completely?

maybe i was wrong to
share those demons.

i beg you to
believe in me,
like i have always believed in you.

hold on a little longer and
give me the chance,
to get back to the woman
you said
you fell in love with.

if pain is my reality
let me drink it straight.
i'll rely on the toughest parts of me
to hold me up
the bone, the sinew, the gristle.
stiff raw material
indifferent to the soft language of
the heart, the soul, the guts.

its four a.m. and the old man's ghost is with me as i pour through his work and he paws at my hem.

his phlegmy gravel whispers at me and i hear,  "cool down baby, the ink on the page is dead as a squirrel on the highway."

i read on and i feel his hand on my thigh and his warm beer dribbling on my dress as he promises verse that's all kinds of alive, if i want it.

he is old and slouched, used to younger women dazzled by words or of age ****** who will pay him mind in exchange for his last wrinkled ones,
but i am neither.

i leave his ghost where it lays
and i don't bother asking him to read my work.
it will live with or without him
even if it never sees the sun,
because sooner or later one of them will rise,
and i will have no time for the ghosts of old men.

i console myself by repeating...
he would have been a good choice made for all the wrong reasons.

she was done.
i was not.

she wanted out,
but i held the door.

frantically i watched the last
grains of our time together
pass through the twist of an hourglass
and everything i ever wanted to say
rushed toward my teeth.

my mouth went dumb
in the burn of her heatless fire.
that cold dimming light that told me
she would listen,
but her heart could no longer hear.

all i could choke out was a feeble

"...please..."

it passed through her, bouncing
off the wall and rolling back
to my feet.

she turned to leave,
and i was left with my
single pathetic word
still begging
from the floor.

the heady wine blushes
pink rose splashes,
spilling from their fluted glasses as they laugh.
they, the shrieking, squealing, piglets of youth personified,
staining their dresses, making the skin of their necks sticky sweet.

girls of their prime,
strolling nonchalantly into woman,
laughing loud and unafraid of the
scowling, folded, creased faces of
old men having coffee
shaking heads and papers
grumbling about peace and quiet.

"Peace! Yes we too seek a little piece grandfather!" the tall blonde of the three trumpets

"Or perhaps, not such a little piece sister." a moon eyed brunette grins.

they let out another deafening ring of laughter,
pulling at each other,
gripping tight to their youth
in the face of
disapproval.

i can't help but smile.
and root them on silently.
be loud,
we've all had plenty of peaceful mornings.
you remind us of the we that we were
when we were you.

the only reason i kept up
with the sport at all,
was to prove a point
to the one who got away.

I walk around heartbroken most of the time.
A sticky glob of pitch resting in my chest,
warm enough to slowly spread,
but cooling fast and cementing.

Everyone seems to walk around so smoothly,
and it hurts to know most of them feel the same.
But,
they're silent like me,
and I'm silent like them,
and we all walk around with big, dumb smiles on our faces.

My heartache will **** me one day,
and I've accepted that fact.
Love of any kind is not guaranteed or owed
and even if you die surrounded by loved ones,
you still end up dying
alone.

christopher find me.

sweat runs
and salt lingers
in seed and spit
in the moment just ended.

i retreat to the only place I can.
she waits for me patiently
outside

she has all the time in the world.

i was treed.
naked, right next to her
no where to go,

she and the words waited.

the saddest part of what i'm feeling
is knowing that it has very little to do with you.

you are simply the catalyst.
and no one can blame
a single raindrop
for the floods.

i didn't like you as much as i told myself i would one day,
and my heartbreak is not at the loss of you,
but more so,
the monotonous trend you find yourself a part of.

you are one of many
who say that they are
in for penny and pound alike;
only to get cold feet,
and decide,
from that pale blue that **** keeps falling from,
that the individuals in the royal we
are probably better off
not becoming a unified
us.

it's night
and there are only
two sounds
in the room.

a staggered, humming,
wipe
of running cars,
and a plastic fan
who's chipped blades
struggle for breath
in a wall facing window.

thoughts echo,
take your hand, and
lead you places
you know you don't want to go.

it's quiet
but at times
overwhelming.
night rushes in on all sides
only to stop at the window,
held back by a single shaded bulb.
the childhood nightmares that
hold the sill
drool, grind their teeth,
wait for the inevitable dark.

a train passes
somewhere far off.
blowing a lonly note,
proving to the world
that it still exists and
is hard at work.

it sparks the mind
to chew nervously on
bitter retellings
of histories half remebered.

the bed,
blood,
and heart have run cold,
while the two beers by the bedside
have gone warm.

time stretches out into forever,
yet somehow still maintains
the very real threat
of swallowing things whole,
and coughing everything up into
a dreadful tomorrow.

it's so cliche
so stupid falling out of my mouth,
but,
i died after the choice.

the world's edge dulled
light grew dim.
colors merely exist,
not meaning the same thing anymore.

nothing feels good
it doesn't fit.
watching the story doesn't mean understanding the nuisance.
it's gray.
its barren.
it's never ending.

i died that day.
like so many people do.
i linger,
only out of habit now.

this neverending monotony,
is the only thing I have now.
the only thing that reminds me
that anything is wrong at all.

plush captivity
where you too can lay you're weary brow in the wanting lap of lady luxury.

work in our store and buy exclusively our things,
step on the wheel to eat, and drink, and **** out new wallets with dull, lifeless, photogenic, joy.

dont ask where it came from,
or what the cost was.
it's all within your grasp if you just work a bit harder.
that new flavor experience,
a shimmering glow,
the look, the depth, the higher ground,
jealousy, worship,
confidence,
that aching hole,
finally filled,
for the small, small, price of
acquiescence.

let the hands of the master's
worry about the big things.
we know what's best and
knowing what you can't help but want is our job.
we haven't been you in ages,
if we ever were,
but the image is nice so
we'll wear the face you need us to,
at any given moment.

you need us, we know, and we'll make sure to remind you every day.
dont think about the inverse.
you're tired, hungry, poor and over worked, ashamed, scared, or just plain unconcerned; death comes
to us all, you're just waiting out your turn.

plug in awhile,
who has time to raise their heads?
we firmly have the wheel.
we know exactly what's coming up ahead.

there is no enslavement,
no punishment,
just no where else to go,
and no other way to do it.
deeds done in the dark
are done for you, in your name,
who cares about the rest?
you and yours are ok,
and really,
what else
could you
ever
really
need?

the crab bakes it's salt
on a rock littered shore.
bashed through,
cracked, and bleeding brine.

waves roll and guts run before
eyes that are having
their first taste of either.

those baby blues watching
something die for the first time
feel nothing.

they look to the sea,
bored with life and death.

there are empires to build.

when they look at me
i imagine i can read the script that scrolls behind their eyes.

it tells tales of devastating devotion
and a love that's close to madness.

they turn away from me
and i am left to suffer the rewrite of their blank indifference.

cold wind in blonde hair,
dew like rain on light lashes,
a different kind of water
than the tears standing there.

i should have picked a better day,
one with sun,
warmth.

she is strong,
but water always wears down stone.

it rains,
she breaks.

it's cruel of you to show.
populating a dream
in the same careless way you
hung around all those years ago.

your arm found my waist,
gravity pulling my head down
to that trusting place between your head and heart.

it was easy.
horribly easy.
the world shifted into place
around us
and i knew
the waking world
wasn't for me.

the past year,
and the boy that occupied
your old space
was nothing compared
to this one moment,
this memory,
this ache.

a creeping vine
of lonely ache
reaches out from
the ever whispering
pit
that sits behind my left ear.

fed by cold
desperate waters.
it reaches for me,
tripping,
grabbing,
begging.

what if they
were the only one?
and you,
just
had
to be
miserable...

"...tell me what you're gunna do now?/you get everything you wanted and you're still let down./ tell me what you're gunna do now..."

the voice on the radio sings my thoughts back to me,
the universe asking me to
pay attention.

i etch assuredness into
the stone of my face,
and remember that i'm driving,
even if i can't recall where i'm going.

the song plays,
the vines tighten their hold,
i scrape the last fight out of me,
and do
the only thing
i know how to do.