At nine p.m.
      they roll up
            the crooked
                  sidewalks
                        like they're
                              fabric bolts.

And every neon
      light in the diner
            window flickers
                  in commercial dim.

When winter comes
      sometimes i drive past
            the closed ice cream stand
                  and think about what i never did.

At nine p.m.
      they shut off
            their overhead
                  living room lights.

Every dog is
      in for the night
            and only the cats
                  are crossing the street.

Small town
      cozy village
            happy people
                  normal sleepers.

                  so incredibly
            law-abiding
      stability's key
Not like me.

                             at nine p.m.
                        they roll up
                  the crooked
            sidewalks
      like they're
Fabric bolts.

                              but i've always
                        felt the need to
                  walk the streets
           around ten p.m.
      pretend they're
Still concrete.

I've never been so uncertain. I've never known
Myself this life. Where I love you more than me times two, and I'd do anything to see you live more happily than any other bride. I'm a shoreman with the arms of an eagle, my digital mouth wants to eject my digital disk. Let's get lost in the wilderness, smoke a joint, and then make a tree home where we can sit and kiss.

You use  to  lay your hand on my
chest  and take me to new york
in a heart beat.
(The  coins   fell to the ground )
and empty were my pockets
The rain falls differently in a small town
it  cries   with you
(the grass was never  born)
and the trees in my town are old and
forgotten
Abounded  houses represent   the
people who left us  behind
every   gated community  promises
security   but   instead it locks up your dreams.
I´ll hold you down (you whipser)
soothing my frustration with  music
It´s like nature itself escaped
through the last   storm.
I´ll  scream  into  forsaken homes
and  put up posters   of  
you in my room
hoping   that you (come and get me)
But the postcard  was sent
from a world (only the unliving can live in)

I should have skeletons in my closet,
but they've yet been stripped of their flesh,
and I've let them loose in this small town
for a game of hide 'n' seek.

She returned a set of my pajamas, unwashed,
her intoxicating scent lingering on hooks in my closet
where her aroma constructs an illusion.

I bury my face in them,
feeling my damp cheeks pressed into her *******,
reaching down below where my hand grasps her posterior
where it takes a firm shape in the loose garments.

I dig into the scent until I go crazy;
I tell myself I'll wash them next week.

I should have skeletons in my closet,
but she's taken it on the road,
in a small town parading it down empty streets
where I can see it clearly,

her oblong sunglasses darkly obfuscating
what I perceive to be her pejorative gaze,
over a narrow ivory face,
sandy blonde hair flowing in the wind.

(I still feel, yes, that smooth pale face cupped within my trembling hands, that sandy hair tangled around my fingers reaching up the back of her neck, pressing her face more towards mine)

I look for the shallow dent
in her ubiquitous red minute two-door seater
on the passenger side, where she was gently T-*****
by a student driver practicing their three-point turn,
and the smiley-face lemon-scented air freshener
dangling from her rear-view mirror,
having lost its freshness years ago.

(I still see, yes, us in that hardware store parking lot,
in the closed evening hour,
sitting cramped in the passenger seat,
her knees on either side of me,
our shirts off and skin warm and sweaty, nervous,
trembling, trembling, lips aching and souls yearning--
where were we headed to again?)

I look for it so intensely,
I forgot my goal was to never see it again.

          Young love looking for little things in a small town.

For years I play this game of hide 'n' seek,
and part of me should realize
that at some point she got up from her hiding spot
and moved on with her life.

(and no, I won't look at her engagement photos,
nor the photos of her newborn child,
nor the Happy Anniversaries and the congratulatory sentiments--
I can see them without social media's derision)

I still scan the streets
like a vulture over roadkill,
yet I thought I was the one
engraved into the grainy streets
where she commutes over my remains.

I should have skeletons in my closet,
but I let them walk out of my life
so I can chase them all over town.

I hate this small town
full of small minded people
who suffocate me with empty promises and spiteful comments about the way I look and act.

I'll turn my back on this place
'cause it reminds me of
nothing but my mistakes
of moments that I wish
could fade
of the stupid decisions that
were sadly made.

B.oF

One day I'm gonna be more than
Just a blue eyed small town girl
Living in a broken down town
Longing for more
They all think I won't go places
Little do they know I'm well on my way
Of leaving this place
I don't know where I'm going
Or how long it will take me
All I know is I'm going

When I look out and see the Boston skyline

I whisper like you're still here next to me
     I whisper like you can here me
          I whisper like you never left
               I whisper like I'll be okay
                    I whisper like it won't bring a tear

And sometimes you whisper back.