Lars lifts opens the toilet seat. The hinge squawks and he mimics the sound with his mouth. A dumb smile folds out on his face like someone unrolling a beach towel. He sits without dropping his pants or underwear. The cops are just about to leave through the screen door. Maggie offers a departing sacrament of right out of the oven of crispy flakey Pillsbury biscuits. They wave their hands parallel to the ground refusing. Maggie pulled the biscuits out too early. The bottoms are tan and dimensional but the tops are sloppy. They look like they have a glaze but they don’t have a glaze. They are pasty but still hot to the touch. The pan is hot. Maggie is wearing maroon oven mitts. One of the cops gets his foot snagged on the throw rug. They walk with their heads down but don’t notice the curled edges of the throw rug. They notice a black pug named Roger instead and nearly avoid fumbling over him. The cops scatter outside quickly like ducklings crossing the street. Lars’ dumb smile lingers and he laughs with a shushing lisp. He reaches between his legs into the toilet bowl. His hand disturbs the water. His nose is bleeding. Maggie closes the doorwall after the cops leave. The cops left the screen open. Maggie reopens the doorwall, closes the screen, shakes her head, and then closes the doorwall again. The kitchen is humming with improper wires. The light is electric pastel blue. The linoleum is too ***** to sleep on. Maggie’s ******* can be seen through her shirt. Lars wipes his nose with his arm and shoulder. He is hunched digging into the toilet bowl. He pulls out a baggie with a twist tie on top. The baggie looks reused. Maggie enters under the frame of the door and her lips roll out like a beach towel. The ******* in the baggie is very very dry.

screaming and crying, not on the outside but soon
I found it dad
I found your baggie of ****
the SF muni rolls past Mariposa St
I did not want to believe it
when I saw the make shift bongs
not ****, bongs
how many of the ******* things do you need

I know it’s big in the gay scene to smoke **** before ***
but I thought you could find other ways to enjoy yourself
did your new boyfriend wean you on to it
I’ll ******* **** him
lock me up, I have always wondered if I would like solitary

you brought the make shift glass pieces to thanksgiving
you don’t even live with us anymore
but you brought it anyway
the SF muni scoots past Wawona St
guess you needed your fix
guess your kids, the genetic bits of yourself, were not  entertaining enough

I could always think
naw, I bet he is smoking hash out of those
but then I found the baggie today
in a long rectangular bag I found the shards
I cried in horror
there was room for more than 10 grams of **** in there

so now I’m on the bus headed home
I run from the bus stop all the way home
all out sprint, hoping to run myself docile
It does not work

I get to the house and find a hammer
I decide to unload my anger on an old wooden door laying on the side of the house
I get a few good swings in before the hammer head breaks off, flying across the back yard
I’m not calm yet
I get to our garage door
and I snap

I see red, I scream my throat raw and I kick our garage door
I do not expect it to cave’
but it does
I feel the weight giving out against the sole of my boot
for the first time today, I am winning at something

I kick
I see my father
I kick some more
I see my father’s addiction personified beneath my boot
It’s face miming the expression, ‘Sorry, not sorry’

I give it one final kick and inspect my handiwork
I’ll have to come back out with a different hammer to fix the door before my mom comes back home from work
****
I thought I was a calmer person than this
I go upstairs and pass out
I want you to see my grandkids, dad
you won’t be able to while on that ****
I walk by or open my garage every day
every day I think about how such a beautiful man could come to a place where **** is the answer

Who else felt the night coming off the tracks,
When we first stepped into that crowded, 1 bedroom apartment,
For the 21st birthday of a guy we knew (his friends, we didn't)?

Strangers derailed and built up drunken tension.
That settled once he found the smoke,
You found the beer,
And I brought the ***.

I know my regrets.
But do you still enjoy the white line you crossed...
Off the counter top,
Before we left for IHop?

You hit me, held my hand, and made me promise in the stall,
(where I held your hair just last week)
That I won't tell.

I won't.

We loaded up in the car to go back,
But got stopped along the way.

Two pipes, one baggie, and an open container later...
Maybe birthday boy became a man,
Sometime between when he got cuffed...
And when he apologized.

Was it just me or....
Were the State Troopers cutest when they lined us girls up,
Looked at us,
And let us go?


Just in time for Mother's Day.

It twas a chunk.
A bootleg papertowel, ziplock baggie, hairband combo
Allowed me to continue
Cutting and subsequently cooking
Perseverance? Check.
Being a bad *****? Check.
Maintaining a sense of humor while I'm gushing blood? Check.
Jamming 90s alternative rock with my nineteen year old brother? Check.

No ******* this time though..
He wouldn't allow such.

remember the melding
of gilmore and bing
the springfield gates
and desmond ring

remember the trojans
and fools in the pack
sea fair jeans
and corkscrew flat

remember the cabin
and *****’s garage
the gary point dunes
and moncton mirage

remember the warehouse
the water logged seats
tin foil caps
and simple retreats

remember the cave
and turn on the cut
emery’s mini
and hamilton’s hut

remember the burger
and shake in the air
bubs in the back
with little despair

remember the valley
and 66 ford
burgundy lips
and samworth’s chord

remember the plainsman
a 7 inch log
the ***** old frenchmen
and bore-*** hog

remember the javelin
and mushay’s wheels
beaumont’s baggie
and jennifer beals

remember tough charlie
tossing brad rand
the belyae roundhouse
and beer in the sand

remember park polo
and scaling of firs
sleeping in rafters
at 8 bucks per

remember the mayflower
and brothers von grant
the max air follies
and chivalrous rant

remember the flipper
the floyd and the clap
banana boat sunday
and pemberton trap

remember the purples
the rasp in the street
the oliver jokers
and shady retreat

remember the gators
and brick house café
a flash in the pan
and crib cult stay

remember the church
and talbs on the bridge
goofy’s memoirs
and cypress ridge

remember smaldino
whom perry cut short
***** and a ****
and moria’s port

remember the zuker
and gilligan’s isle
the pep chew bust
and 8 tooth smile

remember the action
at blundell and one
the nauseous fumes
and pump house run

remember the canyon
and rock on the cliff
a tourniquet bind
that kept us adrift

remember lake skaha
and jvc tunes
the j bain query
and peach fest goons

remember the irons
and broad entry beads
the alexander boys
we must pay heed

remember the gates
the 12 hole stare
the hospital bed
and ky affair

remember the farmhouse
an open air deck
the john deere tractor
and cowboy neck

remember the wheat field
and jimmy crack corn
the burlington plaza
and fraser street ****

remember the pincers
and wee ***** white
the concubine fractures
and strong overbite

remember the carving
portrayed at the scene
the billy goat battles
a young man’s dream

remember lord brezhnev
and moby the ****
the second beach sun
and paper bag trick

remember the screening
the silver light show
banshee boots
and phipps’s throw

remember the epic
and baby oil block
trash can brassieres
and window rock

remember the law
jack rabbit in may
an 8 track mix
on alpine way

remember the dunes
a pig on the spit
the underarm hair
and corn bull-****

remember old frankie
and bursey head post
the koa leaves
and tiki shore host

remember b taupin
the lyrics he left
cold muddy waters
an odd treble clef

remember street regent
the trips in the night
the trailer park cap
and lightheart fight

remember kits causeway
mortimer and beaks
jk's cabin
and muscle bound freaks

remember glen cheesy
and billy the less
the frozen puke patties
and borkum mess

remember the catfish
and pickerel rock
the emerald meadows
and rainbow dock

remember port dover
with fish on a stick
wayne in a bunker
holding his ****

remember the ironside
limes in a tree
the usc campus
came with a fee

remember the duster
an arrow in heart
the frog man bug
that would not start

remember the zimmer
the ram air hood
a family wagon
with panels of wood

remember peace portal
the 33 back
the power built drive
and dangerous tack

remember the reds
the blues and the greens
the furry point island
and country book scene

remember the springs
and i 95
a lone state trooper
with blood in his eye

remember may’s cabin
and stuff in between
the frame and the picture
and morning snow scene

remember the boss
with a 302 scoop
the diamond tuft console
and back seat coupe

remember ioco
the **** and the spit
the skid road race
and hurst floor kit

remember the shore
and tents in the park
a campfire roast
and kerosene bark

remember the hooger’s
kit kat club
the colvin’s and setter’s
a man called bub

remember the creature
with silk strand hair
and afternoon flask
with little despair

remember quilchena
and robbie the mac
the rice stead box
and tap on the back

remember miss williams
a pilgrim’s salute
the fairmont sister
with all of her loot

remember port ludlow
a scotman on dock
the everett street bridge
and single leg sock

remember the masters
and all of the roar
the faldo follies
at norman’s door

remember jeff samson
tied in a tree
the robertson fastback
with white leather seats

remember the balance
and pulling of 4's
the moncton warehouse
and hollywood ******

remember the hospice
with carter in wear
the power of gospel
and magic in prayer

remember the mini
counting the crows
aberdeen villa
where all of it grows

remember the ballroom
the battle of bands
the buccaneer bikers
and front row stands

remember the steely
and 50 odd pulls
the crook in the cranny
and pilsner bulls

remember the mustang
tb paul
the ****** shack sergeant
was missing a ball

remember dear kevin
head first in the pool
a sheik in a minefield
and ****** gas fool

remember the rumble
and bats in the night
an old lady screaming
to a young man’s delight

remember cliff olsen
that sick little ****
who will be in shackles
on lucifer’s truck

remember the bumpers
and cutting in line
the mice on the ****
and bo in the pine

remember the law
stabbing the corn
a bucket of ammo
and mekong horn

remember s boras
the piercing of yes
the color line paper
sikosie at rest

remember the pinto
and seven road plants
mother’s fine pizza
a trial lawyer’s rant

remember the kennedys
with ***** painted black
a pond in the shadows
where monty looked back

remember von husen
the sea to sky test
a farm hands daughter
was one of the best

remember mr pither
and mao sae tung
helena the cougar
and egg foo young

remember the cinder
and frances road bake
***** the whitehead
would make no mistake

remember the quan
and mental mix
the java hut sister
with pixy sticks

remember j rosie
banging his head
in a moment of dr
we thought he was dead

remember the hammer
discussions caught short
siddrich and roger
and monty’s abort

remember 6 nations
and KOA
the pool hall fight
when everyone stayed

remember the skinners
and tommy the med
the lost tough china
and bubs in the shed

remember the doobies
zeppelin and cars
floyd and the *****
and shankar’s sitar

remember old dustys
the blue and red chair
the cypress hill caves
and mullet cut hair

remember the promise
and vows that we made
on the 2 road stairs
in goodman’s brigade

remember those moments
and handle with care
for the garamond stamp
will always be there…

I'm taking my life. to the pawnshop on a dusty summer-fall morning
     Because at this point I'm not sure what to use it for anymore
               And they'll give me cash for trash
   Like a mountain of crushed cans in exchange for a dream money can buy in a clear plastic baggie

An instant such as that, god only knows how much it had hurt. I resolved on a plan, a terrible, disgusting plan. One that required me to push away my conscience and semblance of self entirely.

A plan which left me ultimately heartless.

Oliver Starkweather, the only boy in the world. He had taken the part of me which made me more vulnerable to him than anyone else. Not only that, he was the only person I felt that I truly cared about, the only person, family included, that I could even begin to imagine using the word love on. The only entity that could ever hurt me. And that realization tied me to him forever.

Yet, that made me weak when I wanted to be strong, controlled when I wanted to control.

I had discovered a secret in a week that Oliver hadn’t in a year. His father; rich, generous, and virtually absent from his life, had a small additional house built on their property. Something he’d told me once was, “My dad works in sales.” At night when I couldn’t sleep, I took to exploring their big empty house. One week into my stay, I dared to venture out into the newer one. It was there that I discovered the bookcase. It appeared normal, every book on the shelf was dusty and ridiculously boring looking. The rest of the room had similar bookshelves with similar looking books, but they were mixed in with vibrant titles and a more alluring collection. From there, I began taking down books off of the shelf and flipping through them. The majority were as boring inside as they were out, but the fifth one I collected - which came from the top right corner - turned me whole perception upside down.

Being a morbid little girl, I had always been fascinated with taboos. I would sneak into my dad’s office at night and search words on his computer. Words like gore or ******* or drugs. When I opened that book I knew instantly, even at fourteen, that a book with all the inside pages cut out and baggie after baggie of white powder inside meant trouble. On the shelf, I found three more secret stashes. After that I’d seen enough.



    When the autopsy was performed, the results read drug overdose. My tracks were well covered, for Oliver’s dad assumed Oliver had been secretly dipping into his bookshelf. Dealing was a felony that Mr. Starkweather was not about to risk, so he confessed that Oliver had been struggling with a drug problem. Sweet, demure, heartbroken me was sent back home, and years of therapy brainwashed me into so much denial that I was able to bottle up the entire story and force myself to forget. Deep down, I’d always known, but my mental unrest defied that.

Consequently, he returned. Maybe karma drove me crazy, maybe it was guilt.

But more than anything, it was probably loneliness.

There's half a sandwich in my baggie,
I run with it around the playground and
I'm getting weird looks because..
I'm 23
and somehow I find it much more amusing than nerve wracking
because when I wrack my brain to find answers
all I can think about is running around
my old elementary school play ground.
Maybe just maybe that's why I laugh like santa who had just finished
his rounds for he year and
maybe I laugh like a man that just won a billion dollars,
because I know when I go back to work the next day
I know I cannot laugh this loud
so loud I shed tears of joy, no
when I go back I will shed tears of boredom if there is such a thing.
Sitting at a desk is killing me, but I guess in the end
I've been dying all along.
"Sit quietly at your desk until the bell rings"
"Ask before you use the restroom"
"Finish every thing on your recycled tray"
Well let me tell you there are none such rules on the play ground
I can run and scream, and
I can finish the other half of this sandwich
when I **** well want to.

Those little white lines seem to erase every little problem, don't they?  But be careful, dear, you can only run for so long before everything comes catching back up to you. It'll hit you square in the face, leave you with a black eye for a week. Don't let it get that far. Put down the little baggie, put away the credit card, you're better than that.

I met Sally on the hill with a nickel bag of ******.
      She didn't pay me in money.
Instead, information and a little persuasion made the baggie leave my right back pack pocket
     “Dollars could never have made sense of it anyway
          We throw pennies away opting for the opulence that big bills entail
   Retail will never amount to the amount I've blown on blow”
    Or so she said behind Louis Vuitton shades shielding eyes half dead
           A ****** with a monkey on her back fed by a steady stream of opiates
       “I open this line of communication so you can see we lack foundation and stability and yet
      We're trying to build a sand castle with all the powder we can possibly get
And if we're forced to forfeit that fortress, we snort more, still trying to forget” and with that she placed her sunglasses on top of her head

     I stood back with my back pack and I finally understood
                               Why drugs will make you richer than working ever could
                   They bag a gram put it on the scale and tell you what it weighs
      But they don't tell you how unnoticeable it is when your life slips away

         We sell the dream, we sell the aesthetics
    The drugs, the parties, the scene with guest lists
     Invincibility
        Pretty lights.
                Fun. All a lie.

*I almost fell on my face walking down the hill, staring into those blue eyes over my shoulder all the while.

you can jump from
swing to swing
when you know the
safety net is there
all bottled up
in highways and
happy hours
long drives through
painted lines
and exit signs
long nights spent
swinging out
as far as you can
above that safety net
picking poison
from a stainless
steel spoon
and long mornings
spent picking up the
shards of a life
that longed to be
left behind
on the road
mile markers like handholds
climbing you farther and
farther up the mountain
closed eyes keep you far from home
rolled back in escape
those painted lines
those six lanes
seventy five miles
an hour toward everything
another spoonful
another baggie
another mile
keep me from thinking
keep me from feeling
keep me from the truth
all these safety nets
saving me from myself
another night
another fight
working futiliy to
keep that hand
tighter and tighter
around my throat

Your drugs come in a plastic baggie inhaled through your nose,
I inhale the scent of your skin looking at you i froze,

My parents warned me about you, a bad boy with good lips,
Overdosing on your mystery your mind concealed like a solar eclipse,

Puffing on a beneficial herb that makes you sleep at night,
Who'd of known i could become high from you; a tragically damaged delight.

And so as a man, a job,
a cactus wearing a business suit sharing relations with the hydrant down the street.

A ***** strapped to a baby carriage with plastic baggie cellphones
yelling "run away now"
to the grass at his feet.
A man devoid of water, rather.

These are the times

A well, emptied.

Rather death
find waves of spilled milk and
all the fat people, skinny.

A dry mouth desert, kneeling
In either breath of a living feeling
or the one that talks of so much
for only the wealth of his screaming.

Some tiny furniture talked all night about running through wheat,
ebbing and flowing against the end tables,
then falling short as crumbling tree leaves.
An ottoman as recycle bin holding stem
from stem of watermelon children
and vine-ripened acetaminophen.

Some odd truth told the blowing wind that
God does cartwheels with Lucifer at random.
It then billowed out about
his ***** underwear and holy fodder for memorandum.  

I would say a man, a vision,
A little girl using a GPS to calculate the distance from the rest her teething.
Instead, she found a funny barbeque ***** playing hog-tied pharmaceutical reps into neoprene
mud-flapping pigeons.

I would say the sinking plastic six-pack islands revealing trash limbs,
sunken,
honest,
grim.

Life, itself, must move in tandem to only fleeting geese.
Though in plan, the artisan-picking fruit of word must be depicted.
Live in sin and ignorance much like the
breaking news walking on broken record.
And so as a man; a fear.
He looked down, staring at no one
with bare feet and shaken, coconut flavored palm trees.

After a neat little bite
She slid his sandwich into its baggie
And smiled,
Never tiring of her little joke.

“See, it’s alright. Im here with you, having a little fun!”

After the bell he peered into the bag.
And there it was
And a note:
“I love you, Aaron. “

This morning’s mixture of boredom and fear punctuated by her love

Then he daydreamed of helping with the clothespins,

Sheets snapping in the wind

Who knew the sky tasted so Sour? Bitter?
Words can never describe, as soon as I feel my adjectives grasp

the flavor on the tip of my tongue, it dissolves, escapes into my body.
I think of ****'s sweeter psychedelic cousin invading my veins,

putting thumping jumping beats and tapping feet in my brain cells.

The frigid February air invites pleasant shivers all over my body

climbing up and up and up my spinal cord, driving me wild. Am I wild?
I feel beautiful, I feel perfect and I want the world to know.
People stare, I wave. They reply with expressions that make me 

practically roll on the floor laughing. Am I scaring you tonight?
My head is roaring, my skin feels hot and as I fall into a backseat

I think, I feel it. I feel so good, so good. What better way to go but Up?
So I rip open a baggie and pour another hit into eager lips.

We walk in, and we are It. We are what everyone wants to be,

living on a steady diet of rails, hits and clouds of smoke,
and
shot after shot after shot, hold the chaser. 

We are a hot mess of bones, skin, hips and teeth. 

And then the DJ drops the beat and we transform.

Mt. Mt. Mt. We move, one body flowing into another.

We dance hotter, closer, faster, smoother,

bodies rolling effortlessly, melting into one another,

a collection of spidery neurons lapping up every sensation joyously.

Bones moan, trapped in the ecstasy, and then

I'm dancing with you, I'm rolling with you, I'm feeling so fully with you.

My shirt clings to slick skin as my hips fit so perfectly into yours.

I feel the energy coursing between, swear I can even see it through all the

dazzling colored lights slicing through the air. And you must see it too,

because then your lips are on mine and we are clinging and kissing and 

eating each other's passion, tongue on tongue, licking the salt off

each other's faces. I'm drenched and my soul's inflamed and so completely turned on

and you ask me if I want another hit of molly. I say absolutely.



You take out a key and a bag of sparkly white powder, balance it so perfectly,

offer it to fervent sinuses, and I breathe it in graciously. I feel myself come to life.

You smile and you grab me, claim me, and then your hands are on me.

Hot, smooth, wet, I can feel my euphoria fill me and spill out of me, 

offer it to the world around me. And then we are together again, and you say

Show Her You Love Her. And I do. I press my lips against hers, open my mouth,

offer her the flawless exhilaration consuming my anatomy, and she accepts.

Then you join in, three persons lulling in this incredible feeling, 

tongues and bodies moving together, dissolving into each other, until 

it’s impossible to decipher where one begins and one ends. 

And the music is blaring and we're jumping and thrusting our hands to the ceiling,

thinking we could really touch the sky from all the way Up Here.  

I grab you, pull you in toward me, squeeze you, hard and you groan,

head falling off your body. You pick me up and spin me around and around, I laugh

and wrap my legs around your waist, ride you like a riptide, wave after wave of desire

moving my body, moving through my body, moving in my body. And then your lips

are pressed so close to my ear, teasing me with thin wisps of I Love You, I Want You,

Give Me All Of You Tonight. And I push against you, fall into you, and then


I Wake Up. Drained, wasted, spent, brain throbbing against my skull.

Sprawled in my bed, sweating out toxins that loved me so well the night before.

Betrayed, falling into depression, body aching inside and out, I shut my eyes,

try to concentrate on not throwing up, and I feel you. You're lying next to me,

and When Did You Get Here? What Did We Do? You smile and ask if I'm up for

round two. No, Get Out, Can't You See I'm Hurting? So you take out some sweet

California green and a piece, pack it tight. Light it up, rip it hard, offer me the bowl.

I do the same, feel a little better, but not. Not the same,

I still make you leave when it's kicked. Lying there, dropping lower and lower

as minutes tick by so slowly, I try to embrace the purple haze enveloping me.

But all I really want is some water and some ecstasy.

My pen is leaking
ink pooling into my pocket protector
the one I’ve had since before the new math
My uncle gave it to me – I remember
it’s got the logo of his insurance company on it.
that and, now the ink stain.

Ink running through the cracks in the pocket protector
leaking where uncle’s meat thermometer pushed through tight plastic
staining a once yellow shirt

Stopping by the dry-cleaner for pick up
the vendor says she couldn’t get it all out
but it’s better than it was.
Hands me a small plastic sandwich bag filled with strips of paper
the size of those you see on magnets
for fridge poems

“Don’t know where these came from” she says, “****** near ruined my dryer
spinning around there – clogging up the air exhaust”

words……
I whisper under my breath

From the ink.  
The words in the pen
would not go unnoticed.

I pay her – grab my shirt, my jacket, my tie
grab the baggie of words
in no particular order
thank her
and with the welcome bell’s ding
I head into the street
a very satisfied customer

****** pen is still leaking by the time I get home
It’s leaking tears by now
tears that fill the ink well of my memory
dip and scribble dip and scribble

Thoughts almost painful
long forgotten
or so I thought
Last days on Brunswick Avenue
knowing I would have to return to school
emptying that huge street-facing bedroom
I got a lot of miles looking out of those windows
if I wrote a lot
I don’t remember
Late nights, very early mornings listening to
the hourly chime of that nameless clock
that made up the entire downtown Toronto skyline back in the day

The words that dotted the paper sometimes
sometimes made no sense
my friends politely remarking
“That’s good.  I like it” were unhelpful

Further future desperation wasn’t far
just need a receipt or a bar napkin or
a box from a Big Mac ripped into 4x2x1x2x4
whatever I could get my hands on
just trying to appease the leaking pen
from getting too far ahead of my regretful memory.

IOUs, shopping lists, debits to society
love poems, goodbye notes, “I miss you”
they’re all there, we just have to remember what they are

Words write themselves.  
The ink, the tears
the blood, the fridge magnets
have already formed the words.
I am the one with the ideas
when I meet a new lover or
fall out of favour with an “ex” – yet again or
attempt to describe three shades of orange or
when I want to remember to pick up pickles

They are stuck in the pen
until I am ****** good and ready
with the roll of the ball-point
to see where the words land this time.

drip
drip
drip

escorting you through the back alleys of Asia,
well it's kinda like
strutting into an interview drunk.
It's kinda like walking through airport security
with a baggie full of illicits in pocket 4
or is it pocket 5?

Hearing you speak Korean
with a shaking head
and a firm hand on my inner thigh,
well it's kinda like
asking a stranger to pay for my drinks.

Treating you to dinner and pitchers
when your heart's fighting your brain,
well it's kinda like
reassuring a child on his birthday
that he's getting presents later in the week.

And so receiving your words in the morning,
well it's kinda like
getting a kiss on a swollen cheek
right beneath a fresh black eye.

It's all kinda like it's dangerous
but I think I'm doin' an OK job
at acting like I know what I'm doin'.

We went out to dinner and you ordered my favorite
when it came, we switched plates
because you knew I’d change my mind.

We walked into your friends house looking for some beer
instead they pulled out a sweet little baggie
filled with don’t-say-it-out-loud-named drugs.
Everyone gets big stupid smiles watching Rodger
cut it in lines on the table.

I’m trying to tell you with my eyes that my heart is beating faster
than it’s supposed to
that I am in no way comfortable here
please please take me home *******
and you told my eyes out loud,
“Yeah but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

(Full blown panic attack. It’s what you do to me
baby.)

Leaning over the table like you’re about to get ******
(that was mean, but I am mad),
inhale deeply through that roll of paper.
I’m watching you sourly from the couch
whispered into your ear
“when you come down, you’re taking me the **** home”
(this entire poem goes in The Swear Jar)
instead we had makeup *** upstairs and
I flirted with all your friends.

I guess it got later. The party started going,
some Taylor kid’s speaking in my ear
“That boyfriend of yours, does he love you?”
“Not at all” (I’m a flirt but at least I am honest)
Told me to call him when I shake off the loser.

How can I shake off this loser?
How could I give away the boy (man?) who orders
my broccoli cheddar soup
so we can switch bowls
after my disillusioned moment
of chicken noodle wanting.
He carried me to bed again, and held me when I woke up
crying.
We listen to Neil Young in the car on our way out to the woods
he said
“What a sad man…his Mimi went away.”
running his hands through my hair.

This is my excuse:
you don’t know a person, until
you have gone through their medicine cabinet.
They say.
Mine have prescriptions
You’ve had to find yours yourself
to find yourself.  But now I think
it’s time to grow up, or die real young.
It’s not my problem.
I think I maybe should stop it with this
problem.

Numb nostrils,
jittery tongues,
swarming the cutting board.
Sharks, whose blood lust
shot off the charts
with the sight of one little baggie,
gnash their teeth
"Pour it out! Line it up!"
"Here's yours!"
"I can't feel my teeth!"
all caught on the reef
thrashing for another dose.
Who am I to judge with this
white gold
in my nose.

Baggie, tin foil, pizza box that entered much too soon before I had the chance to read the baking instructions.
Tissues, red bull cans, graded busy work that earned it's keep after a professor marked it with a big red "X."
Mummified tea bags drained of every last living drop, miniature candy bar  wrappers, a dumb drawing of a cow dressed as Spider-man.
Guitar strings, chewed gum, a news article about the house I burned down.
Love notes, crumpled paper cups, and a used band-aid.

.
       Taking one last drag off My cig I flick it to the ground and watche the little sparks of flames that shoot off it as it hits the ground. It is 11:00 on a wednesday night and I was parked in a bad part of town in a small conneticcit town. leaning against My beat up old 2003 black ford focus the window in the back seat rolls down.

     "Hawk how long are these guys going to take? Are you sure they're even coming?" Twittle says around a huge *** yawn. I pin him with one of my glares that said Shut the **** up. He pins me with one of his own glares I DARE you written all over it. My heart thuds just a little faster in my chest. All I wanted to do right now was take him home and accept that I dare you challenge. His cocky *** grin showed that he kenw what he was doing to me. I narrow my eyes at him.

      "Watch it boy" I growl and turn my attention back to the deserted parking lot, trying to calm my nerves. What was taking them so long? I figured for cociane addicts the thugs would have been here right on time to get their next fix. My nose burning at the memories of all the times I had felt the rush of a fix. Then up ahead in the glow of a random streetlamp I see three shadowy figures heading our way.

      "Twittle get out of the car they're here" I said and pushed off the car, not waiting for his response,I head in the guys direction. I hear the car door open and slam shut, and within seconds I feel twittles presence right behind me. The three junkies stop a few feet away from us.

       "You.. you got the stuff man?" The man who seemed like the leader said to me. His voice shook and was too high pitched. The guy was already high out of his skull. Just my luck, The high ones were always the worst to deal with, just about the deprived ones. At least that type was easier to manipulate. The ones that were high were too paranoid to pull a fast one over thier heads. I sighed, guess I wasnt going to be getting more then the coke was worth. ****, and I was hoping for a few extra hundreds so I could take twittle out for the night.

         "Yeah yeah I got it right here" I said in my casual, I'm chill there is nothing wrong here voice, a voice one must perfect if they are going to do the type of buisness I do. I pull out the baggie filled with the white powder that they were craving. In the dim lighting I could just make out the wide eyed staring of the guys, the look of raw need and lust. I sympathized with them, I knew that feeling all to well. "Now give me the money and you will get what you came here for" I said still casual, but an underlying threat present. The leader takes a step forward and eyes the drug suspisiciouly.

        "Is it all there? You aint trying to trick us or anything right?" He says paranoia seeping into his words as the drugs already in his system take control of his brain. A sharp anger flares up in me, How Dare he accuse me of cutting corners! I may try to swindle a few extra dollars out of people but I never give them less then what they asked! I quickly squash down the anger, it would do nothing but start a fight.

       "Yes its all here all (wont put real amount) of it. now give me the money" I says trying to surpress my annoyance. I feel Twittle step closer to me and feel his hand on my lower back. showing his silent support. **** these junkies, they needed to give me my ******* money now Before Twittle made me lose my mind. I held out my hand showing the leader I meant buisness and held the drugs out of his reach.  Money then drugs

         "Norm use to give us the goods Then let us give him the money, How about we do it that way." One of the other guys says, the other lackey snickering. I turn my glare to them and they quickly shut up.

         "Well I'm not Norm, I'm better." I say flashing them a deadly grin. The one who made the comment strides up and looks at the goods from a safe distance. Suddenly he whips around to the leader.

        "Man the ******* is trying to play us! Thats not Coke thats ******* FLour!" He screams in a full blown drug fit. My anger flares up again. I may be a crook and a drug dealer but I NEVER Played my customers that way. I always gave them what they wanted, Nothing less nothing more. The leader swore and reaching behind him he draws a gun out. Pointing it straight at me. Outwards I show that this was nothing new to me that it didnt affect me, which was true, I've had guns pulled on me more times then I would like to remember. I felt Twittle tense up behind me and with my free hand I reach around and grabs his, squeezing it to show him everything will be ok.

       "Look guys this is the real ****, Now you can either take it and give me the money or you can just walk away and find a new dealer." I said straining to keep the situation calm. I knew how to disarm the guy if I needed to but with Twittle there I really didnt want to. The leader hesitates for a few seconds but then points the guns at me again.

         "How about you give me the drugs and forget you ever met me." He says his voice laced with drug hysteria. I sigh and shake my head.

       " I would love to boys. But not without my money. Listen this is how its going to happen You're going to pu-" A loud ring fills the air cutting me off mid sentence. A few seconds later a White hot fire burns through my shoulder as the bullet slices through me making me stagger back from the impact. The ******* ****** Shot Me! I've been shot at numerous times, and stabed more times then I could remember, Hell I've walked around for a full day with a small blade stuck in my fourarm and didnt even notice until the pain finally got to me. But never Once had I been actually SHOT!. The pain was blinding and I could feel hot liquid ooze down my arm and knew my shoulder was losing blood.

       "You ******* ******* come here!" I hear Twittle yell and I lift my head just high enough to see him tear after the trio.

       "Twittle... No" I managed to say through the pain, but he didnt hear me. I turned toward the car, I had a gun my self in the glove box If I could get to it and get to the junkies in time maybe I could protect Twittle. I took a few steps and staggered, almost falling forward. My vision was clouding around the edges. Oh for **** sakes Was I really going to pass out? really? I thought angery with my body for being such a whimp. I couldnt pass out now! I had to help Twittle, He could get in serious trouble. I reached the car and fumbled with the car door trying to open it. I lost my balance slightly and slammed my bad shoulder into the window. The white pain intenifying. Biting back a moan I slid down the cars length landing on the ground. I looked at my shoulder and in the dark I could just barely see the dark liquid that covered my entire arm. I looked at my hand and saw the sticky red blood dripping off of it and pooling on the asphalt next to me. I was loosing way to much blood. I tried to stand up but my strength decided just then to desert me. My hearing was going screwy and the black cloud at the edges of my vision was creeping in faster.

   Was I dying? I knew I was. I gave a bitter laugh. Out of all the ways I could die I was going to die at the hands of a coke Addict. Heh I knew coke would somehow be the death of me. NIcole and Kaitlyn were right. To bad I wouldnt be around to tell them. And Twittle, I failed him, I couldnt protect him, If he died tonight with me it was all my fault. He wouldnt know How much I truely loved him. I'm sorry Twittle I think as I wait the agonizing minutes before unconsiousness takes me. Right before I slid under I hear what sounds like someone screaming my name. I struggle to open my eyes, but they are so heavy. WHy are they so ******* heavy? why cant they just open up so I can see who is calling to me! I feel someone grab my face and move it so they can see it.

       "Hawk open your eyes, please baby open them." I hear twittle say, only he sounds like he is miles away from me. I pick up the fear and desperation in his voice. EYES OPEN! SAY SOMETHING! DO ANYTHING! I scream at myself, trying to get my body to move, But the pain takes hold of everything and my body rebels against me and wont do what I want it to do. All I can manage is a small moan of Pain.

         "I'm going to call 911 now ok? Please hang in there Hawk PLease for me" I hear him say. I try to tel him yes I try to reach out to him to hold his hand, but the pain is to much, instead I slip away. unable to hold back the unconsiousness any longer.

I dream of you every day.
I wish I was with you all the time.
I sleep, hoping you'll come to wake me.
So that I'll never wake up.

I want to hold your hands
And kiss your cold, numb lips.
I want to fall with you
Into the nothingness.

Oh, Death.
I wish you would come
Take me away from this place.

I have a baggie of sleeping pills.
I slept for 12 hours straight on them.
But when I wake,
I awaken to my life.
And sigh because I don't
Want to live it.

Happiness does not come packaged in prescription bottles
Or plastic baggie, top carefully sealed
It cannot be found at the bottom of empty shot glasses
Or finished beer cans, that is not where it's revealed.

Joy will not be found rolled up in a joint
Not discovered in a small cardboard box
Or scattered among powder lined on a mirror
I have scoured many vials stocked with shiny rocks.

Smoking herb might cause you to laugh and smile
Hallucinogens can open your mind
Fun feelings fade you'll feel worse than before
Without aid of drugs contentment will be hard to find.

Soon you will spend time chasing chemicals
In form of a ****, tab, straw, or syringe
Whether you puff, eat, snort or shoot
It comes down to the same unhealthy binge.

Do not waste your life wrapped in burnt-up foils
Foraging through crumbs for a shroud of hope
We all have different ways of escaping
Some fall too deep and never climb back up the steep *****.

Although
I don’t remember specifics
I believe I had some leftover shake
I don’t remember any clear plastic baggie
nor how much was in it
(******* worth?)
But at the time
I had been doing a good deal of baking
Savory tortes
Fluffy quiches
Cookies always
And so I made a batch of brownies
Dark and Chewy?
That I’d like to think but I don’t remember
What I do know is that I tried them
and decided that
I wouldn’t share
Not really
They were that good
A dreamy sweet high
Really nice
Lovely in fact
But eventually
I softened and wrapped up maybe
Two
And took them to Venice

I don’t remember who got the first one
but I gave the second
to an inveterate ‘head’
****** since birth
most likely
I thought out of everyone
she would appreciate it the most
A connoisseuse
And I waited for her critique
I might add that although is seemed irrelevant
To me
she was what they refer to as
Rock-and-Roll Royalty
‘so-called’
and her then Fuckbuddy Roommate was
an Actor (aspiring)

The critique came sure enough
But not what I had expected
as
She didn’t eat it
But gave it in turn to him, the Fuckbuddy
Passing it along
To curry favor
To advance in the entanglement
To keep him interested and provided for
-i got you baby-
And not to make
too strong a point
but I didn’t much like the guy

It would have been a sad enough fate
for the Little *** Brownie
If it had ended there
but the Fuckbuddy
brought it along to a meeting
To a casual tête-a-tête with
A Major Hollywood Film Director
Huge, at the time
An auteur
Of course
You know his Work
He’ll be considered iconic
at some point
If not already
And the Little *** Brownie was passed along again
To curry favor
To create a connection
To cast the glow of good fellowship and commiseration
The wink
The nod
But this time it was eaten
And afterwards the
Major Hollywood Film Director
I was told
made a personal phone call
To let the Fuckbuddy know
About upcoming projects
Most likely those that
would never include him
And to state:
‘by the way, that brownie you gave me...
It Wasn’t Any Good.’

In turn
The Fuckbuddy (who scored a major TV role without a brownie and subsequently dumped her)
let Royalty know too
And she,
in turn
Rolled it back to me
So the moral of the story is:
Be Mindful With Whom You Share Your Gifts