stoic, solid
stolid and bolder
made colder the soldier-
death's hand on his shoulder
and eyes the color
of green flies.

r ~ 8/19/14

They wanted a curriculum vitae
In absentia
I decided to ad lib
Ad nauseum
Ipso facto, lie and deceive
Exaggerate, mislead et cetera

Hardly a bona fide
Modus operandi
They caught me in flagrante delicto

Requiescat in pace, (RIP) my chances
Now I'm persona non grata
Mea culpa

For Sally, who loved this the best*

Be forever young n humble;
Feel ancient and royal;
Ride tall in the saddle;
Do something nifty;
Take someone's hand unexpectedly.
Drive home in the slow lane;
Do the minimus;
Do the maximus;
Leave a book on a park bench;
Use pen n paper, write a letter;
Take a chance, make people laugh;
Barrel into contention;
Show mercy to the confused,
Show anger to the abusers.
Bless a child with both hands;
Grasp your soul, throw it down,
Raise a child to the sky
Straight up,
A continuum, you and they,
A ladder to heaven

The schoolteacher had an affair in Santa Fe.
She was a schoolteacher and a tourist.
And an affair adds dimension.
It makes a place more than memory.
The notion of it inverts.
Santa Fe now resided inside of the schoolteacher.
The city had a cracked voice and blonde hair
and a slightly sagging belly and pictures
of a New York niece on its phone and
an ambivalent relationship with combing its hair
and an irrational fear of left turns.
She expected young artists with vague academic worldviews,
chainsmokers talking loudly about point of view and Heidegger.
Instead the artists were retirees, painting nothing but landscapes
of red earth, attempting to improve on the natural world.
The schoolteacher did not like this kind of art.
It was trivial.
Wholly unnecessary.
Then the blonde artist walked up behind her
in a stucco gallery. He said, "You hate it don't you?"

"Yes."

She turned. He appeared to be in his early forties.

"Tourists never understand it."

"I'm not a tourist."

"You are. You've never been within the land."

"Don't talk to me like this."

"This is how women prefer to be talked to."

"Not this woman."

"Even you. You want to be told you're wrong.
'I look fat' No. 'Everybody hates me.' That's not true.
I'm skipping the stage where we agree. I'm going
straight to the stage where we are opposites.
Plus and minus."

"The part where we *****."

"Or connect or lose ourselves."

"I bet you live in a loft. Dozens of half-finished
canvases strewn about. Dabs of dried paint on
newspapers."

"I live in my big sister's basement. She isn't home."

"There's not enough wine in the world."

"That's where you're wrong," he said.

I lost her to thin air  but found her in an elevator when we were both too drunk to take the stairs
And both out of enough of our funks to not care
As I was drunk and I needed lips and hers were there
Strawberry lip balm if I can remember correctly in a morning that was ever too foggy but tasted so clear
Berries above a neck of vanilla creme to the body with everything, everything, I mean everything
Back dimples centered around a birthmark, breats b cups but bursting, body skinny but jaw dropping
Beauty beautiful gorgeous all the same with public school hips only with practice can you tame
And broken hearts scabbing over a past life's scars are healing and we can feel it cuz its been months and nightmares ago but we've changed

Maturity or the quest to maintain proven false beliefs in purity in the form of trusting a ****** again while alone in my room
Dodging a half packed, half open suitcase and pairless socks in the dark..and who would of known feelings would spark so soon,
But call them feeling if you want to as both of us are looking like I'm on to you
Is this traps, trickery, or treason as we find old love spots and squeeze them cuz this may be a surprise but its not new
Looking into her eyes bring a cold shoulder in twos but then she is ******* and smiling....whispering I missed you...
And I missed her to...I missed her in the way pairless socks miss feet and shoes and even flip flops to....

I missed her after those nightmares replaced phone call lullabies and that feeling of her warmest hug by her hardest goodbye...
But now were laying together and why?
Did half finished bottles and condensation capped beers really do more then apologies and love notes in the longest texts we've ever seen
So easy to delete memories through screens but  not so easy when they stand before you or lay beneath your jeans
Not so easy when she finds a cursed diablo in her dreams in the form of a liar and his mistakes behind shades that I just wish didnt look so much like me
I can't tell if she'll remember the night we've seen with her eyes being so glossy and so out of focus and her every gaze so misty...
I just wish the title of wife didn't come under the muscles of a tounge so flawed before the women I'd rightfully title god
But were just drunk, and this is mistakes in the making,  hence why when I say do you still love me she can't say it  yet...only nod..

a crumpled milk carton
discarded...fallen
in the gutter, another
black and white photograph

a tooth fairy smile-
something missing,..

a coldness
from the shuttered window
in the shadows
of a quiet day
...Xavier doesn't play here anymore.

r ~ 8/17/14

when we are home
and towels are hung to dry,
when the clouds are soot and black
and blue is shy

when the waterbed is hotter than the sun,
when the soppy christmas ******* has begun

I will think about this summer
and how warm
the sand was,
and how we owned the dawn

when I walked with you
along a gold foot track,
with suncream sweethearts tanned onto my back.