Billowed and pasted, rollicked and wasted,
the night takes hold and Samantha, you remember her,
she's smoking again. This is her last pack though.
Drinks poured. Drinks spilled. Kate and I are talking
like people with scheduled late afternoon love affairs. There's
a car alarm going off in the distance. I love this blouse. Is it new?
No. It looks new. I love your perfume. You aren't wearing any?
Must be a natural—and the first to arrive at the party, Chris and
Evan, they're the first to leave, and we listen intently as one, or maybe both, tumble down the stairs. There should be waivers for second floor
apartment parties. Kate, you deserve so—I know. I know. You've got this light. Jesus. I'm just saying. Is it radiant? Yes, it's radiant. And they're lighting their drinks on fire now in the kitchen, some concoction of amaretto and 151 and a kickback of Coors. The flames reflect in their eyes, their cheeks a soft amber, and most of them are smiling, not sincerely, but when was the last time you could give yourself over completely to joy? There's a siren in the distance. Someone says they're coming for us. I'm going to the bathroom. Do you need help? And there's this ceiling fan with LCD Christmas bulbs strung around the blades. A myriad of claustrophobic yellows and whites and blues. Have you seen that video of the ****** having a baby? And he brings it up on his phone. Someone says, Oh my god I love this song from the bathroom. I hadn't noticed the music before now. Drink this. What is it? You'll see. And Samantha she says she's got to step outside for a second. And someone drops a hookah coal on the beige carpet. There goes the deposit. There's incense. There's a Scentsy. There's Febreeze being sprayed liberally. Can you drive? Can you? Do you want to? You know? I've ate a lot today. The songs keep getting skipped. Parquet Courts, Michael Jackson, Lionel Richie, Chvrches, Miley Cyrus—wait, wait put on some SWIFTY. We're going to fire up in my closet if you want to join. It's a walk-in. Evan's back now. He kicks a mirrorball across the kitchen tile with Chris, who's also back now. Where's Samantha? She's smoking. She shouldn't be alone. You remember last—That won't happen again. I'm just saying. Well, you can stop saying. Sirens again. Closer. We're in the walk-in. Kate tugs on my sleeve. I take a pull off the bronze pinch hitter. Do little circles with my head. ****, she says. What? It all starts fading out, the rush of dark, the rush of light. Someone says trash can. Sirens. I'm just trying to—Shut up. I'm just trying to—Shut up.

I am the thinnest slice of pizza
A warm beer
A scratched DVD
A lukewarm shower

A last resort

I'm what one settles for when all other options have been exhausted
And what is disposed of the moment something better presents itself

We think we're hard done by

Coasting in our sleeping bag boats,
Binliners of lumps
waiting for our names
and for our coats.

Oh Lithium Lovers
Are we ****** - ?

Are our bloodlines blue,
black and blue and botched,
blotchy on the page,
cowed and crowing in the cage?

We were birds, stunned birds,
Singing to the guns,
With picks behind our eyes
And walls to catch the turds.

We were history
We were gassed
We were mush inside the glass,

We were carnival sweethearts,
We were the horrors of the crowd
****** if we were quiet,
Or a bit quiet,
Or loud.

Yellow pages,
A pipe,  not a pipe,
Notes -

What's your name, darl?
And where's your coat?

low, fast moving clouds
make me feel
like i'm standing
still on a mountain

wisps of cotton candy
and wind in my hair

there is a change in the air
a slower, colder
turning motion
all around me

my head in the sky
my feet in the sea.

There is a forgetfulness
To pride that
Will never be cured
By stop signs,

Cold-culled footsteps
Telling you to
Step back,

Traffic stops pointing you
In opposite directions.

"Pride"
Is but a matter of here
And hearing—
Of hear and now—

Of watching the tail ends
Of mufflers blow
You off with exhaust
Smoke and choke
On their spit—

Honking at your pride
And unsure gait,

Leading you into alleyways
Sprawling with brightly
Colored graffiti,
Pink painted faces, misfit

Tongues and a silence
Uncharacterized by
The glamour of the city—

Only this
They deem yours.

You were in a tail-spin, (You remember?)
Of course you do, endlessly falling,
Churning dark clouds for company,
Every silver-lining has a cloud.

So I reached right in, (you were so blind.)
Placed your trembling hand on the controls,
Although, you did not trust me, (did you?)
Not at first, although with good cause,
Because you were dizzy, disorientated.

But slowly, ever so slowly, we relaxed,
Pulled you out of the dive, up and away,
Banking, climbing, power ramping up,
Juddering through the stutter-stall,
Until we were purring, a throaty growl.

A big cat in a poorly constructed cage,
Bursting free, guided by rainbows,
Flickering smile insinuating itself upon your face,
(So lovely) on your beautiful lips.

Without really noticing, (smooth as silk)
We coasted along in open skies,
Rah, French kissing the gentle swell of the sea,
Transforming everything into a mirror,
Reflections captured in burnished bronze,
Can I release your hand now? (don’t gasp)
Yes, my love, you are flying again.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Breathe.

Settle yourself.

Try to understand.

We were meant to love.

And if we can not love, then we were meant to try to love.

And failing that we were made to breathe.

And try again.



-Sean Critchfield