It's been twenty minutes
And I haven't seen his eyes.
He blew his nose twice,
Sneezed once.
One time,
I saw him eat—
That was days ago, though.
His fingers tip-tap
On the click-clacking keys,
Hands moving faster
Than the greatest gunfighter.
He would never have
The patience or desire
To duel me, however.
I can't decide which I want:
To smash his face into the keyboard
Or to wrap him in fraternal embrace
Until he remembers he is human;
So I just sit motionless on the couch,
Guiltier than he.

I dread the sunrise each morning.

Even darkness,
My oldest friend,
Abandons me each day
To fend for myself
In the world, naked, exposed,
Alone and unprepared.

They reach out to me,
A warm,
Welcoming embrace,
Tentacles licking at my stiff heart strings,
Striking up a tune
More melancholy than a funeral dirge.

I can't help but to fall into a trance;
They whirl me around
And I easily keep step
With their back-and-forth dance,
Slipping and sliding
On angry tears mixed with mucus.

Finally, I've had enough of the dance...
I push away the monsters,
Hurling sticks and stones
And laughing coldly, unfeelingly
As they hiss in surprised pain;
Tentacles recoil.

And I retreat back to my hole.

The subtle whishing
Of flowing gasoline
Sets the mood;
An ugly, teal-colored,
German-engineered insect
Rolls up to the pump
Alongside mine.
I note the empty car seat
Cramped in the back
As she steps out,
Her balayage-curls swishing
As she flashes me
A cursory,
Carefree smile.
Grinning stupidly back,
My eyes gloss over;
Déjà vu grips me and
I search my memory
For her face—

The insect scuttles off;
My tank is full.

A lone plastic bag
Of unknown, mysterious origin,
Now floats, heaven-bound.

Once again, lying in bed,
The day's events
Flowing through my head
Like a movie
I don't want to see.

The dreams come and go.
I push them aside,
Each time wishing they would return;
They don't, of course.
Why would they?

I see her eyes—
His eyes—
Their eyes,
Painted on the back of my eyelids
Like graffiti on the silver screen.

Covers pulled over my head
Only serve to catch the vapor of my breath;
The click-clacking of a beast in the hall,
The quiet tick-tocking of a distant clock
Still permeate.

I start to back into a spot,
Then they drive in front or behind, rushing
Somewhere; those people are the worst.