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Helena Apr 29
my roman nose did not
fit the cupboard womb
as I stared at
the silhouette
of a ketchup stain on  
a breakfast table
raw burger meat,
ripe debutantes
all bathed in
glycerin and
self-destruction
waiting for teeth
or the occasional knife
(chaining themselves
to trees
whose seeds mostly
wander)

I came here alone
(use me and squeeze me)
the insides of the
shrinking constitution,
the demure dissident
such a thrill
to smear my guts
all over the newspapers
to see the visions
of the
ink so
honeysuckle
intertwined


I pressed
against
the greasy
diner table
arms crossed
to hide my face behind
a promise to be
waiting for you
open mouthed
and mute
chiaroscuro, blind
Mara Feb 8
lingering fingers
drifting eyes
parting away
from some
run down town
and into this diner
our fate awaits
8M Dec 2018
The diner has lots of shakes
Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry
But none of them have the power
To cure my broken heart
8M Dec 2018
Rockhoppers cry in hunger
Like you in that diner
A plate of fish, raw and cold
Was all that appeased you

Like you in that diner
Candlelight burning bright
Was all that appeased you
Lusting for more

Candlelight burning bright
Could not satisfy your gluttony
Lusting for more
Did the fish taste good?

Could not satisfy your gluttony
A plate of fish, raw and cold
Did the fish taste good?
Rockhoppers cry in hunger
I don't really like seafood, to be honest.
Mimi Apr 2018
Suburban’s the only place open this late so we slide
into the red slicker seats, feet locked into orbit, knees chaste:
against the checkered table our hands grasp
empty space, separate by twos.
Graveyard workers chug past, silent ships on a still sea.
Grey-faced one asks to take our order
specials falling off her tongue
by rote, routine, and
on instinct I ask
for the two-for one cheeseburgers and a side of curly fries:
“extra crisp” you used to chime in;
smile in your eyes now
you say
none for me
thanks.
written november 2017
A M Pashley Apr 2018
once, while searching for peace,

comfort found me in the middle of the night.

It came in the form of cups of coffee and plates shared with friends I barely knew.

and under the yellow haze cast from overhead lights

we brushed away the dust of the long summer day

with talks of past mistakes and stories of things we've done.

with gossip and gospel.

on the ride home we talked about human nature

and the weather in Ohio

while through the windshield the moon illuminated the fog and threw shadows on the faces of sleeping backseat passengers.

looking back I realized,

that night, in those hours before sunrise

we constructed a whole new universe around each other.
Kaleigh Feb 2018
Dale works a long day, oh my friend, a long day.

His car is broken down, his head is like a wild playground.

Poor ******* lost his son last year, he crept out late, came across a man who put a gun to his innocent face.

Buddy runs a diner downtown, don't know how the hell he pulls it off.

It's way passed sundown, Dales hands are bruised to the bone, surprised the guy hasn't had a meltdown.

Mary says he has a heart of gold, but the babies face is cold ******.

His wife left him a decade ago, boy must've gone through a crusade.

Keeps in his thoughts, babe your drowning so deep.


He serves food and drinks, breaking dishes in the kitchen sinks.

Some days he doesn't show up because of the pain.

Rain pours from his crying eyes, babe its gotta be terrifying, losing yourself each day.

I'm just a single woman making my way, I can't help but feel the same.

My heart sinks when we meet, baby your vibe is contagious.

Just a poor man who lost everything, you exhaust your heart like burning flames.


Calm down honey, I can describe you in many different ways.

A locked door who buried his key, a helpless goldfish begging to be free.

Those puppy dog blues, get me every **** time.

You hand me a plate of french fries, I push them aside.

I wanna get close to you, but I guess I'm afraid to.

Baby when was the last time you got laid? You can't leave your bed sheets bitter and raw.

Dale I could love all your flaws, but I fear I'm too late.

Somethings already got you, and its out of my hands.


He serves food and drinks, breaking dishes in the kitchen sinks.

Some days he doesn't show up because of the pain.

Rain pours from his crying eyes, babe its gotta be terrifying, losing yourself each day.

I'm just a single woman making my way, I can't help but feel the same.

My heart sinks when we meet, baby your vibe is contagious.

Just a poor man who lost everything, you exhaust your heart like burning flames.


Dale made the news Friday night, shot a man in cold blood.

I watched, eyes transfixed like I was breathing in a flood.

I wanted to howl to cry, I could've saved him from this, possibly even his life.

The rest of his time would be spent behind bars, but sadly it wouldn't be for long.

Babe didn't last more than a week, poor ******* got stabbed in his sleep.

Maybe now, he can finally get some peace.

Grasping his sons hand in the flashing light, tears streaming in relief.

Baby could've been mine, but I was too late, and now every Friday I visit his grave.
I love this so much! This was my practice working on a ukulele/guitar themed song. I hoped you enjoyed, please tell me what you think!
Mike Hentges Jan 2018
His eyes lolligag across the words but he's not actually reading them.
You can tell because he turns a page, only to turn back, realizing that he didn't digest what he'd just read.

It takes a long time to read this way.

With one's mind elsewhere, anywhere
nowhere but here
Like a fly in amber
encased in this single moment of waiting for her
Feeling the car lights outside rub his back, but not in the scritchy scratchy way that she does it.

He clutches his phone
turns back a page
checks the time
actually registers these numbers
and wonders
if this is routine

Him, waiting in silence, alone in a restaurant, looking like some pathetic **** who never managed to make friends, food on the counter sitting as undigested as the words in his hands.

Her, on her way, late and always dissapointing

He turns back a page.
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