They say, "good things come if you wait."
I've fallen in love six, seven, eight,
but somehow I find you worth holding the door for
God laughs at my girlish delusions
love is a trap door.

We stared out the back window at the painted lines making patterns on the highway. I got lost in the flickering of a broken headlight barreling towards us, but you only focused on the red brake lights of the cars that passed us by. We never turned around because we were too afraid of what might be right in front of us, so holding hands we stared out the back window, and watched the industrial river flow away from us.

Won’t you slip into
the drapes of my collarbone
and nestle kissing my throat.
I’ll breathe a quiet moan
you’ll unbutton my cotton coat.

Close me inside the walls
that are dusty from lack of use
locked from adolescent abuse,
and dimmed inside we’ll retreat
to kiss where our eyes don’t meet.

She stopped eating until she was nothing but right angles and sharp edges. It was if she couldn’t understand the math of the world she lived in, so she sought the neat geometry of the curve of her hollowed hips, the bend of her wishbone elbow, and the measurements of her rag doll ankles.

Let's fire up that last joint 
in hopes of getting higher 
Boy, I hope you see the point 
the beauty in the fire 

Cigarettes and coke 
I think my mama thinks I'm broke 
I’m a juiced up ****** know it all
and I’ve never met a glass too tall

Afternoons on balconies 
Where the sun don't meet the streets 
It's me all all my phonies 
Just hitting sound repeats

Lately poetry has been
scraped off my consciousness
and smeared across the page
like a three year old
playing with watercolors
forcing shades together
that were never meant to be blended
in hopes of seeing some pattern
or understanding
in the blind expression

pink roses
dragged themselves
from the linoleum floors
to die plastered against
the black cement of the driveway