I'm on a train.

One of those red ones with black trimmed windows you can imagine rolling through the suburbs on the way to NYC. Not a subway car but a classier vintage with proper rows of cushioned seats and a lever to pull if there is an emergency. There are sparse shrubberies on one side of the tracks and the ocean on the other. Young trees and bushes stroll by.  A little wind is pushing off the ocean, massaging the car ever so gently back and forth as we move along. A gentle click-clack is on the tips of our ears.

We got on together. I hadn't known you for very long but the connection was stronger than anything I had ever felt or have since. You practically sat on top of me for the first few miles. Couldn't keep your hands off me,  staring in my eyes like you were searching for something lost but you couldn't remember what. The edges of your lips turned upwards permanently as if you were always at the verge of a laugh. You interlaced my fingers with yours and held on like you would be ripped away if your grip loosened for even a second. Slender fingers holding so tightly that they were becoming red.

You were excited to to be riding with me, about where we were going and all the things we would do when we got there. I would see you peer out of the corner of your eye, then lean over to brush your soft cheek against my budding stubble. Kissing and gently biting my lips insatiably. The suns rays coming in at an angle and lighting up your perfect smile and dimple.

I had to remind you we were in public.

I was lost in your blonde curls and the incense of your neck. I had fallen incredibly hard and so fast that my face hurt from smiling and my heart beat with vibrations I had never known. Not even a whiff of anxiety or neurosis. Some of the best memories of my life, as fleeting as they turned out to be.

I yawned and you put your finger in my mouth. I bent over to tie my shoe and you would poke my **** and laugh with your own reflection in the window, like this was the first and best joke of all time. Maybe it was and maybe it is.

The waiter came and informed us that a thing called "the bar car" existed. We both jumped at the idea. I didn't exactly notice at the time, during our excitement, but that's when the train started going faster and everything out the windows began to blur.

The bar car was a wild ride and we took advantage of our lo'cal. All kinds of fine wine, liquors and illicit substances were available. We tried them all. You were beautiful, your laugh infecting everyone around you, I was charming and held a captive audience.   It was a dark, loud and glorious blur. We were the life of the party and it chugged on till dawn.

We woke up in our seats, disheveled and discombobulated. It was dark out already. Did we sleep through the entire day? The train was slowing down, maybe approaching a station. The party was amazing but we were certainly paying the price for the black out. You moved over to the seat across from me to have some more space and lay down. I saw myself in the reflection. My hat, charm and smile from the night before had vanished. I must have left them in the bar car the night before.
      You had changed, beauty uninterrupted but different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it. Irritated maybe? I invited you to cuddle and battle the hangover together but you ignored me. Like you couldn't hear me or didn't want to. I decided to let you be.

I got up to use the bathroom and thought I would go look for my scattered belongings. Maybe I could find a scrap of leftover dignity while you rested. I inquired to the conductor who directed me to the bartender in the bar car. He hadn't changed a bit, somehow untouched and unaffected by last nights antics that had effected me so dramatically.  Same black suspenders and white pressed shirt with impeccably slicked hair. I asked him what happened and if I had an open tab. While slowly polishing a rocks glass he looked up and made eye contact for a split second before looking away.
He said:  "Oh the bar car takes its toll. In the end we all end up paying one way or another". I still don't know what he meant by that or if he knew.
      I asked him if he found my hat and he said he would check the camera. We walked in to a small back room, while he was reviewing the tape, over his shoulder I noticed a tragedy.

We were drunk. I was going on to a group of new friends on one side of the bar, they were hanging on my words and I was eagerly explaining whatever nonsense they were drooling over. You were in the corner wearing that red dress I love, with your hair up in a tight bun. A few curls had escaped and brushed your high cheekbones, a thin line of pearls dancing delicately across your perfectly symmetrical collar. You were stunning and inebriated, swaying with each bump and motion of the train. A man wearing my hat put his hand on your side to keep you from swaying over and then he left it there.
I took a sharp breath.

It looked like you put your hand on his hand to move it but then it stayed and you both swayed together. As the air left my lungs and the blood drained out of my face I watched your lips touch the strangers. A small piece of my soul slipped away forever. I couldn't watch any further. When I asked the bartender how long it went on he fidgeted for a moment and uncomfortably muttered "quite some time". I never found my hat or the other part of me that left that day.  

The train slowed. I walked to the back, as far away from you as I could get, in utter disbelief. How could you? I thought to myself.
I mourned the loss of the you as I knew you yesterday, quietly and to myself. A tear  escaped my eye and rolled down my now fully formed stubble as I fell in to a random seat in mild shock. There were a few passengers back there so I had to pull together relatively quickly. After gaining some composure I knew it was time to get off. I knew we could never get back to yesterday morning though I would have said or done anything to do so.

The train had stopped. I went back to my seat and you were sleeping. I took my coat and gathered my things. The conductor looked at me confused as to why I would leave something so magnificent, I assume he had no idea what had transpired.   

I walked to the rear of the car and slid the door open slower than required. I stepped to the stairs and put one foot down on the step and the other on the ground. I stopped, rooted with my hand on the railing, lingering between two very different paths.
     I knew that it was time to get off, I knew this was the sensible thing to do, that I couldn't get past this offense regardless of how I had felt earlier the day before. The whistle screamed from the locomotive. The conductor looked at me and shook his head, I'm not sure if he was trying to tell me to stay or go but a decision had to be made.

The train lurched forward and I watched as the station slip away slowly. I sat in between the cars for a while and watched the ocean and birds. With a heavy heart and shoes I walked back to my seat. You were waiting. Crying. You knew. The bartender had told you. You didn't mean do do it, didn't realize what you were doing and thought it was me. He was wearing my hat and the whole world was blurry and dark.

I believed you. Self anguish mixed with alcohol was dripping from your pores. I knew you didn't mean it and were drunk, but could I ever forgive you or trust you again?

I loved you still.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, a weaker version of myself looked back. As if an invisible chip in my teeth had developed and my shoulders lowered. The charming, confident man from the bar car the day before had been replaced. Something was off but not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough to know a change has happened.
       The train started to pick up speed again as we distanced ourselves from the station.  I second guessed my decision to stay but I didn't look back.

I found the man with my hat and punished him with a few blows in the dark. He knew he ****** up, apologized and took the beating like a man. I never got the hat back.

The engineer announced that we would be going through a tunnel soon and to turn on our lights and keep our hands in the windows.

It would be dark.  

We stayed away from the bar car for a while but the draw was irresistible. After a few hours we were there again but you never left my side.  Then you did. I was looking for you but you would disappear and not answer me when I called you name. The tunnel went deeper and darker and I didn't know where you were and I suspected you liked it that way. The train began to slow down again as we exited the tunnel.

I finally found you back at our seat, you had moved one row away from me. I asked you to come back, tried to hold your hands but you pulled away with vehemence. When I came back from the bathroom you had moved another row farther.
I knew I was losing you.
I begged you to return but you told me calmly that it was time for you to get off. At some point in the tunnel you had decided that you didn't want to go anymore . Your mind was made. You were going to catch another train at the next station.

When the train stopped I thought for sure you would reconsider but you didn't. Didn't even give it a thought. You just grabbed your coat and hat with one big bag under your arm. You kissed me on the cheek like a french stranger and were off. Going somewhere else on a different train. Just like that.

I rode the rails for quite some time by myself , many people getting on and getting off, passing me by. Every once in a while I would think I saw you at a station or in a **** though the window of another train. I often thought I could smell you but when I breathed deeper it was always gone. A ghost dancing on the edge of my senses.

A young girl in a headband got on the train. She was listening to headphones and dancing to herself as she bobbed along. She sat down in the seat next to me flashing a smile. She had a wedding ring on and I dismissed her immediately.  She didn't move from the seat or stop glancing my way. Eventually she confessed that she wanted to talk. I told her I wasn't interested but she persisted.  I hadn't talked to anyone on the train for quite some time and after some more mild persistence, I gave in.

We had a lot in common. We were both riding alone, desperately wanted attention and were thrilled to receive some.  After a few laughs she slid her hand in to mine and interlaced her fingers. I left it there. It was warm, comforting and wrong. She was married but I had been riding alone so long it felt good to have some company. She stayed and we talked. She was broken and I had a knack for fixing things. After a few hours of dramatic conversation I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

When I woke up  the train was flying up the track on the side of a mountain. Trees and rocks were a blur of green and grey. The engineer must be trying to make up for lost time I thought to myself.

The girl was asleep with her head on my lap. I looked down at her hand and the rings were gone. I woke her briefly to ask where they went. She said she didn't need them anymore and had thrown  them out the window.  She could of sold them, I said, but she said she just wanted them gone so she could be mine and fell back to sleep.  All of a sudden I couldn't breath. This train was roaring down the tracks, the once gentle click clack had become a loud hum. Suddenly too loud. This girl in my lap who had just gotten on the train wanted to stay. I considered her for a while as she looked up at me with big blue eyes, shining and wet, like a puppy in the shelter, terrified of rejection and desperate to be adopted.

At the peak of the mountain, just when the train began to even out, you waltzed back in to the car with a champagne flute in one hand and your bag in the other.

I don't know when or where you got back on, must have been a few stations ago when I stopped looking for you. Maybe you were wearing a disguise, who knows what you had been up to while you were gone. I'm not sure how long you were away but it was quite some time. That you had been through something was obvious, a new wrinkle had formed on your brow and you're once confident stride had changed to a cautious stroll. What actually happened out there I don't know.  I never asked and I don't want answers.

You looked at me and smiled. It was good to see that smile, like sun on my face on a brisk day.  You took a step toward me and then I looked down in my lap at the girl at the same time you did. I looked up. You and your smile were gone.

Everything I had begun to feel for this broken, head banded girl in my lap dried up like a puddle in  the dessert.  I quietly and gently nudged her awake and told her I had to use the bathroom. She put her head down on my coat and fell back into what ever trance she had been in, eyelids gently fluttering, eyes searching beneath them for what I would never give her.

I dashed up the isle and threw open the door, almost shattering the glass. The conductor glared at me and rolled his eyes as I barged past to the space between the cars.

There you were. Standing on the stairs with your head out the opening. The wind was blowing your perfectly formed curls around your head like a blonde explosion of familiarity. I yelled your name and you dove in to me. My senses erupted, my mind went numb as the train was nearing another station and I inhaled your essence greedily.

We moved to another car. I abandoned my coat with the married girl and never looked back. I hope she found what she was looking for. I  never could have been the answer she was so desperately seeking but I know I  helped steer her towards it.

You told me you had encountered some other people out there on the rails and they had reminded you of what we had when we first left the station. I never forgot.  

The train started to rock and get going again. We were back in the bar car and starting to brown out. We had to get off of this train right ******* now. In a desperate moment we looked at each other and put our hands, together, on the emergency brake cord. I looked in your eyes with your hand on top of mine. You kissed me while yanking down on the cord. Time slowed, the breaks squealed and everything exploded throwing luggage, people and the entire contents of the bar car in to a nondiscriminatory chaos . We got up off the ground, ran to the end of the car, dove off the side in to a soft patch of grass and rolled down a small incline. We watched as the conductor sifted through  the mess and interrogated the passengers, trying to ferret out the party responsible for pulling the brake. He spotted us off the side of the tracks and shook his fist while shouting every conceivable obscenity combination.

We laughed, held each other in the grass and kissed deeply.

We watched the train pick up speed and disappear in to the hills as relief spread over me.

You interlaced your fingers in to mine and we both looked out to where the tracks disappeared into the horizon, wondering how far of a walk it was to the next station.

Long legs, black hair
Her eyes are blue, her skins fair
I can't help
But stare

Her face, divine
I feel her lips against mine,
Heart beat, flat line

And they say, she's classier than champagne,
Know I can't complain,
I'm addicted, like *******
On a cloudy Monday
Cause she said that she'd stay,
You know the best things in life come free to us,
Cause she,
moves underneath my hand,
Sweet and soft, like a pretty lamb
And she don't wanna go outside, tonight,
And I kiss her, because I can
She won't love any other man,
It's too cold outside,
for angels to fly
Angels to fly

stay in, wear sweats
Worries gone, there's no debts
Curl up, in bed

She talks, I don't
I try too, but the words won't
Come out, a sad note


And they say, she's classier than champagne,
Know I can't complain,
I'm addicted, like *******
On a cloudy Monday
Cause she said that she'd stay,
You know the best things in life come free to us,
Cause she,
moves underneath my hand,
Sweet and soft, like a pretty lamb
And she don't wanna go outside, tonight,
And I kiss her, because I can
She won't love any other man,
It's too cold outside,
for angels to fly
Angels to fly

She'll lay here tonight,
Closing her eyes,
Looking towards a happy life
She won't fade out tonight,
She'll wake up to light

And they say, she's classier than champagne,
Know I can't complain,
I'm addicted, like *******
On a cloudy Monday
Cause she said that she'd stay,
You know the best things in life come free to me,
Cause she,
moves underneath my hand,
Sweet and soft, like a pretty lamb
And she don't wanna go outside, tonight,
And I kiss her, because I can
She won't love any other man,
It's too cold outside,
for angels to fly
Angels to fly

the only lines that are blurred are the ones that you're crossing
close your ***** lips, time for us girls to do the talking
you say you want a good girl
and the alcohol is your weapon
Acting like an animal
but self respect is my blessing
yes I got the power of resistance
as soon as you grab me, I've made my decision
keep ya distance
I've got my own pride
girls by my side
run together like felines
I dont want
and I don't need to be domesticated
if I say no you feel emasculated,
but I'm not your wifey
I'm not your mid life crisis
much more than plastic, my love is priceless

you’re quick to assume my dimensions
but the desire is 1 sided
my potential can’t be contained
by someone so small minded
i’m not going to lie,
there are times i did sing along
but there was always a part of me
that knew that it was wrong
degrading myself through the words in this song
i’m my own savior, dancing on my own
keep your striped pants away from me
and your fancy cologne
never impressed me anyways
cuz who’s gonna want you
when you’re long past your glory days
maybe you’ll actually have to start
remembering her name

if incoherence is a turn on
you can leave with whatever you got from Jamaica
you write a song talkin bout liberating me
read between the lines, verbally date ****** me
talkin bout gettin blasted, blurring judgement slurring words
you've supplied enough nastiness for the night, you don't need help from the girls
this song glamorized by the women it defeats
it doesn't count as seduction when you're invading our sheets
don't belittle me when your restraint is as small as your comprehension
I never said wanted you so drop the pretension
I don't wanna get nasty, I wanna get away
good looks and a catchy chorus doesn't make misogyny okay

I heard this song on the radio about 5 times a day
the world couldn't stay away
never listening to the words
singing along with no shame
maybe it's empowering to the girls that sing along
in the heat of the moment it doesn't feel wrong
but you're 100x classier than words in this song
worth so much more than ***** sheets
you wanna feel loved, so you slip into a dress and he slips into your drink
this is all a release, but you don't have to be the dizzy slam piece
just remember who you are
and what the world is saying
growing up,
they wanna invade your innocence
take your impressionable mind for granted
*** on the radio
violence on the tv
models in the magazine
but you're gonna have to tune it out
live on your own
live for yourself,
remember what your mama told you
keep your chin up because they're gonna try to break you

what rhymes with hug me
babe, you could never love me
cuz first you gotta respect me
accept no because maybe she’s just not ready
i’m not a piece of meat
you get to use, abuse
for your own personal grinder
be the one by her side
not the one lurking behind her
music is power
you’re adding fuel to the fire
women in music nowadays
yeah, we’re the survivors
against the cheaters and the liars
contributing to a mindset holding us back
so we gotta rise up keep
their pants up, and their minds on track
sincerely, every blurred line that never went back

I went into the woods today
to feed the little birds
the squirrel in his little  drey
and the roe deer in their herds
went in feeling confident
walked out tired and grey
now I need some counselling
and this is what I'll say!
Those little ******* birdies
had set a trap for me
dug a hole with mickey the mole
they knew I would't see
fell right down
and bashed my head
they laughed so much,
thought I was dead
all they wanted was my seed
No! not my *****!
Oh, please take heed
the rabbits kicked earth into the hole
****** lagomorphs got no soul
except for hares
they are classier
even though
the females are sassier
I climbed back  out
the birds got miffed
"there is no doubt,
he must be biffed!"
so into the fray
they sent their trump
a ****** great stag
to give me a thump
spent ten minutes dodging round
running like a good'un
until I ran into a tree
solid and pretty wooden
"my sodding nose,
that ****** hurt!
I'm bleeding down
into the dirt!"
tough they told me
with their eyes
that tree will cut you
down to size!
I got away at half past six
how was purely luck
I fed the stag some weetabix
and he got hit by a truck
So now we're having venison
and gravy for our tea
and if I go to the woods again
I'll take some friends with me!

They're digging up the cobbles in our street,
moving them to a classier area.
We'll be given tarmac, black and soft in the sun.

Yes, even here it shines - on men's vests.
They're red faced, drinking from lager cans,
while their women finger scarved curlers.
At least, that's what others think they see.

But neighbours do talk with us.
There's a code of decency,
though Mum says, 'some have hearts
as black as the tarmac'.

There's a hierarchy,
in minds and heads,
if not in pockets.

Some day the toffs will turf us out,
gentrify our street. We'll be moved,
filed vertically, pigeon lofts in the sky.
Then they'll bring our cobbles back.

You see, it's like this:

Every night, right around
Beer number 4,
With the beginning
Of the Daily Show
Airing on the tv
At the foot of my bed,
I look out my window
Diagonally to the left
Out onto the street that
Is dark because the city
Hasn't fixed the streetlight
Yet, even though it's
Summer and I'd like
To think that the kids
Walking the streets
With their hoods pulled
Up could be able
To have some light
To blow their smoke by.

Anyway, I look out my
Window diagonally
To the left
Every night
And I see a 1995
Rust spotted grey
Oldsmobile 88
Pull into the driveway
Of the green
Double level house
With the ugly
Maroon shutters
And then the same
Woman climbs out
In her scratched
Half inch heels
She bought at the savers
On route 44
And this night she's
Wearing her pale blue
Conservative skirt
And a delightful
Vertical striped
Button up
Office building secretary shirt
With the mix of cool colors
And her brown hair is
Pulled back in a tight
Bun that's been tugging
At her forehead for
The eight hours she sat
At her desk and the
Six hours she waited tables
At the ****** chain sports
Bar on Branch ave
For ****** tips
And ****** looks
From ****** drunk perverts
She has to smile at
And flirt with if
She wants to make rent
At the green double
Level house with the ugly
Maroon shutters.

She checks her mail box
And with weary eyes
Scans the envelopes
Of bills and spam and third notices
No letters from friends
Or family or old school suitemates
And she goes inside
To reheat her dinner for one
And I lay here in my boxers
Cracking open beer number
Four and listening
To Jon Stewart point out the
Obvious absurdities
In our ****** up system
That everyone seems not
To notice and take as
Just jokes on a fake
News program but are
Really symptoms
Of a ******* society
That puts value in all
The wrong places
And as I sip on
Rolling rock number five
And watch the woman across
The dark street fumble with
Her keys I think about
How lonely it is here in my
One bedroom apartment
And how lonely it is there
In her one bedroom apartment
And I wish oh I wish
One of these nights I could
Stand outside and smoke
A cig and wait
And when she gets home
Ask her how work
Was and laugh when
She jokes that it was terrible
And know its not a joke
Because it was terrible
And I'll ask her if she has any
Late night plans
Knowing she will tune into
The Colbert Report
And watch until she
Falls asleep in her full
Size bed
And if she smiles and says
No I'll ask her to come over
And have a drink and if
She says yes I'll give her
An Octoberfest because
Harpoon is classier
Than rolling rock
And then maybe she'll
Want another one
And maybe she'll see
Something in me.

As I open rock number six
Every night the same thought
Breaks through the cloud,
That if I could just do
What I want to do
Maybe this bed wouldn't be
So big and maybe
This heart wouldn't hang
So heavy and maybe
The tv would have an audience
Instead of a solitary observer.

I fall asleep again
Having never learned
Her name or which high
School she went to
Or what makes her laugh
Or what sad movies she
Loves to cry along with
Or which secluded areas
She likes to go to to think
Or what she thinks about me.

my mom called, i cried by the dhall, on facetime
been thinking about how lucky we are to be alive
even if to deal with mornings and swollen eyes
even if dad's always on the night shift, even with
this big rift caused by the distance and the lack of time
just because we made out once doesn't mean you're mine
i got glimpses of a pink top, my blanket of a jacket
i bet it would look classier if you were wearing it
but you're distant and cold and partying is getting old
i'm forever out of polaroid film and cheap distractions
so i took an amtrak home, straight from south station
the flight back to boston was short but still exhausting
and when i walk home alone, the silence is unsettling
seems we're both better than i thought at method acting

fifty years later



you girls wear their old dresses
over sky
blue leggings
lace
and fabric that smells
of lost time

you found them
in stores
with high ceilings
and a sloppily simulated
rustic vibe

you love your
waists tastefully
cinched
and collar bones
concealed

you twirl before
the full length
mirrors and
wish oh how
you wish
you could
have been born
then instead of now

everything
was so much classier!
the women
were a different
kind of beautiful

women
who smoked
in their bathtubs
cardboard hairdos
unraveling

women
elbow deep in
baking
soda and dishsoap

soft secretive
smiles overtaking
their
faces
as they rattled
through the
medicine
cabinet
for a snack
(twice a day)

pregnant again
for
the fourth
time
yet
thin as a rail
somehow

ghosts
in their own
skin

silent but
deadly

crying manically
because of
the smoke
in their eyes

choking gently
on the powder
all over their tight
lovely complexions

dinner ready
at six
sharp as a rusty nail

fantasizing
about what it would be like
to fall in love
with another woman

scuffing their knees
and showing the raw
skin off to all
the young men
with sunlight left over
from childhood still
swimming in their
eyes

or walking home
in the rain
without an umbrella
and having that be ok

slapping their
own faces
at such trecherous
thoughts

obsessing
over how
their mothers did
it with
so much **** grace...

but yes
girls
their clothes
were simply
divine

I remember when pink tights
Were classier than skin tight
And those days when I looked up to the sky
Not because my friend just died, but because it was pretty
When the ice cream man wasn’t a creep
Just a nice jolly man staying off the streets
           Giving me ice cream when mommy wouldn’t
I remember playing my mixed tapes
Without thinking about the next ipod6 point oh
The time when I walked to the edge of my driveway just to sing
Not because I wanted to run from everything
The days when punishment was not being allowed to play outside
        Now punishment follows you till the day you die
I remember using my imagination to build myself a new world
Full of color and swirls and ice cream and day long trips to the playground
The times I couldn’t think straight because laughter wouldn’t stop ringing
       Ringing, ringing in my ears

Now I’m forced to fall down, bow down;
Hell bound in a society which does not forgive
Forced to swallow your huge fists and cheap tricks without a tear
        Swallow, swallow, don’t spit *****, swallow
Pick up those bricks lined on the sidewalk named time and enemy
And carry them to your next destination
Where you can drop them off while you pick up memory
Let’s take a walk down memory lane and see where it leads us
        The next ally is hell
Hell, maybe your memories take you somewhere different
I hope they take you places I never went
Places I plan on going someday, someway
       When everything changes
Changes like the leaves change during autumn
Jingles like the change in my pocket; echoing as I walk the silent streets
Attempting to be discreet; but jingling nonetheless
As I walk up to the man who pushed me down, watched as I drowned
And sock it to him
        Right in the face; Put him in his place
Because there is no place for him in my life
No place like home, no place like home
       Home was hell
And trust me; there is no place like the fires and wrath you’ll feel if you come home
       Ill be home for Christmas darling
Because isn’t this the life you wanted, isn’t daddy oh so charming
As he kicks us down the stairs and screams that he just doesn’t care
Thanks for the memories
Yea; I’ll be sure to stomp one to him
And rub the dog **** off my sneaker while I’m at it
Hopefully some of the spit he spat at Me will wipe off too
So yea, sure… I remember
       But I’m moving on
On and onward towards the lights shining brighter than the sun
To a place where the oceans so calm drown the fires
A place where they deny all the liars
       All but one
                Me
Because I spent my life wrapped up in my lies
Tied down by everything I tried to deny
Chained to the past as my mind ****** my future
Mind ****** out of my own mind and into another’s without a ******
Nobody knew what they were getting themselves into
       Until I gave them a piece of my disease
A little bit of my depression
Made its own kind of impression
On everyone who made an attempt to understand
But enough about that-- I’m not here to chit chat
About what I’m moving past
       As long as I pass all of my classes
Despite those, I’m pouncing forward
When I get out of here I'll jump to the moon
       Watch me
Someday I’ll have a new way with a new mood and a new dude
Who will know, but won’t be fooled by the show
Instead he’ll know my truest laughter
And he’ll know that the past doesn’t matter
Because I am me
       Let me be
And I will continue to live and breathe and smile for awhile and cry when I lie
And drink with my shrink and laugh with power during this hour of MY time

It’s my time to shine

You walk into a supermarket
The one with the
Fake
No wait! This sounds better!
Faux
British name
And look at the candy display
For Christmas
With the Styrofoam snow
You see the big
Self-important sign for
Raisinets, which is sold for thirty pesos
And say to yourself,
“Sounds god!
I mean good!”
You get your wallet and pay
Dismissing cheaper alternatives
That are equally tasty
And not reading the back of your Raisinets
To see where it’s manufacturing
Was outsourced
Without blinking
Without questions
Without batting an eyelash
Without thinking it’s unreasonable
Without realizing Raisinets
Is just chocolate-covered raisins
The kind you buy at some
Random movie counter
(A value of fourteen pesos a bag)
Given a classier name

(Circuit Breaker)

You read somewhere that the rich get richer and richer
and sit on the yachts with staff in the kitchen
you apply for the staff and surprised by your inbox
you made the cut as a waiter to clean for the richest.

Buy the gear, take a ride, kick back on the boat
where you’re treated like a spy with a knife at their throat
the world keeps spinning as sparks fly down wires
but you're sick of this prison, where you lie ’til you’re tired.

Bottle up and float out to ocean, the back of your mind
is still hopelessly broken, one day you snap the wrong way
while this tax dodging sociopath sits laughing and lolling
the sun hides before him, you take the tethering rope;

snapped, ill, broken and bitten you rise to the bait
and run down to the kitchen, the chef chops away
you slip in behind him, chop chop away he doesn’t
bat a lid to you routing through the draws throwing

most to the walls, you find what you need and run
to the top deck, a suit tells you to step back
but you give them the slip, knee to the stomach
they flop on the deck, groaning and hunched

they step back up, a crack of the wrist, an almighty punch
over the railings they curse, yell, and cry for the boat
but the captain is networking about his lunch
you pull out the cheese wire and stroll to the pool.

The toff is surrounded, near empty yuppies
photographing themselves perpetuating the fourth
section of sinning ‘though shall not fool yourself
that mankind is winning' with the wealth squandered

here we could afford houses for the women and children
of the war your involved in, to fund the oil sales of the one
in a billion, so they can provide you with a classier
place to abstain from the real life and ****** up system.

Run over and clear the robots of richness, tell them all
'go ahead, keep taking your pictures’ while you strap the wire
around the neck of the fattest cat in business,
they all cry in horror as your grip tightens the purple

-faced smart-mouth shouts out for help but calls his helpers
a 'bunch of ill mannered sirens’ as they step back afraid
a single one daren’t come to his aid as that glint
in your eye shows the will to die to **** the tyrant

who’s gasoline fights killed your mum and your dad
and threaten your kids, you thank god that it’s over
though the system's corrupt, this wars been reinstated
reissued so that those above, know the people

aren’t fooled by their false promised lobbying.
Your death row grin comes back at dinner
as a copycat killing claims the next victim
you were the gush that unclogged the piping.

I'm not quite sure when I first realized this body didn't belong to me.
12 years old, just a child, running down the street,
I "recieved" my first catcall.
Middle school me, masked by insecuirty, appauled,
Confused by the meaning behind this "gift" given to me.
Now, everywhere I turn, still a child at 15,
My insecuirty masked by makeup that defines my beauty,
I'm faced with whistles and comments that "raise my self-esteem."
I walk into a store alone and assess the face of everyone who passes by,
Wonder if my shirt is cut too low, or my pants too tight,
Because when I wear something I like, I'm inviting guys to stare at my ***.
Right?

8th grade, I first discovered leggings,
Comfort classier than sweatpants but easier than jeans,
Barely 13, I turn around to "**** Alyssa, who knew you had a *****?"
Harassed daily in the halls by fist bumping boys who made no effort to hide the fact that I was the subject of their conversation.
But attention was attention,
I didn't know I was supposed to care my body was the only thing on display.
The year my best feature turned from my eyes, or my hair, or my smile,
To solely my body.
The year compliments were no longer for my new outfit, but instead my figure.
The year my leggings invited countless guys to add me on Snapchat just to start a conversation with,
"Your *** looked good today."
Classy.

The world is a camera and I'm stuck in the frame,
Hopelessly on show for others to watch,
Wondering if I look alright,
Hoping I didn't blink.

Even now, I find myself turning around,
Making sure I look good in my jeans.
But this body doesn't belong to me,
I never look good just for me to see,
Because I was taught at age 12 that boys will be boys and only care about the outside.
Boys are supposed to look at my backside.
Recently I came to this realization and questioned why I was ever flattered by a comment on my body in a certain garment.
Why I readjusted push up bras and high waisted jeans to impress the boy in my dreams.
When I asked this question outloud, I was faced with "I can't help the fact you have a nice body."
"It's a compliment. If you don't like it, don't wear tight things."
But now I realize it's society.
Society is the monster that teaches young girls they are toys.
Society teaches ***, catcalls, and harassment to the boys.
I scroll through my Instagram feed, and posts show me that I am supposed to look nice.
For a man.
Because what's the point in wearing a bikini if a man doesn't see?
Right?
Wrong.

Standing in front of me in my mirror is a body marked by society.
Makeup that makes my skin and eyes pretty, society put that brush in my hand and taught me to paint.
Hair frying under heat,
Clothes that show my best features, according to society.
Now its 6:33 in the morning, I've been up for two hours, I'm blow drying my hair and wondering why the hell I care.
A body on show for everyone else to see,
This body doesn't belong to me.

I imagine myself talking to you often
enough to think it were an obsession, the idea of
you and I exchanging pleasantries,
the kinds felt in the marrow of my fore arm bones
and maybe even my thigh bones,
sometimes we are that good,
shaking the foundation which I balance on,

like when you told me I am going to die young
preserved in a classic pose with pearls in my ears
and a straight back. A slightly older, classier version of myself
I imagine. She drinks red wine and sits alone under blankets,
still having conversations with you on a lost frequency,
She waits for the light to fade, to wrap itself around her old human body,
for the light to take her with it when it disappears.

Already I am pulling at myself
like any breeding animal with the
instinct to be a selfish mother,
Wondering if I let go and abandon
this shell in a watered down suicide
will I have more time on this Earth?
Or will they say at my wake,
huddled in traumatized circles,
after they've read my life and figured me out,
she was obsessed with death for a while
instead of she was impressed
    with the brevity of life?

If you don't want to have kids then you're a selfish person. If you have a baby you're either irresponsible or didn't do enough in life beforehand. Not being a ****** means you're boring as for losing your virginity means you're disgusting wait until marriage. If you're not stick thin you're too large so lose some weight.

You're too thin eat a little more you want to be a model don't you? You only have eyes for one girl. That means she's controlling you bro maybe you should get out of there. Now that you've cheated on   you're a *******.

Who wants to hang out with someone who drinks and does drugs? That makes them look like a loser although not doing it makes you completely boring. You're beautiful the way you are dear but have you tried contouring your face?

You're nose is too big you look like Nigel Thornberry. Eww why would you get plastic surgery? that's so unnatural, you're a horrible role model to young girls. Your clothes are too revealing cover up and be modest and dull.

Boy your pants sag to too much pull them up and be more classier. I like a man who dresses classy. What are you dressed for a wedding? I'm not marrying you! I like a bad boy with tattoos and piercings.

Pay attention to me you're always working, I'm leaving you because you're too clingy. You didn't have *** with me so I'm out of here! Now that we had *** I'm still leaving you and moving onto other things. I'd like it if you changed for me, now that you changed I don't feel the same for you anymore. Goodbye!

You spank your child! You're an abusive parent I hope they get taken away from you. Your child acts like a little brat, this is what happens when you don't discipline them. You should be responsible for the kid you raise.

Who do you want us to be? We're not perfect and cannot achieve everything at once. Our lives do not matter to the opinion of a stranger nor society itself.

Hallelujah for a zombie;
another plot in jazz and if
nothing makes sense,
I'm capable of virtue,
I'm capable of correct.

Capable of air.

Even between the two;
******* a redhead on the bathroom floor,
trying to fall in love with someone who just
feels ******* honest and sincere,
groveling at, practically, a stranger's feet.
Execution for a criminal
made in poor fortune.
I'm a deity and demon,
and a cannibal if you count the self,

or at least capable.

I'm a teacher and a taker,
a piece of *** and
a *******.
Reading american books
and looking uncrooked in
horn-rimmed black glasses.
I'm not unforgettable.
Gotta find a classier way to wear black;
teenagers killed it for the rest of us.

Made it hard to fit.
Impossible to be a champion,
can't take the weight of the crown
or the density of gold.
Bit the bullet and cried out,
"No."
The ghosts are us now.
Amen.

once again i’ve been betrayed.
i’ve gotten used to quickly give away
but when it’s her, it hurts.

we are opposites, i thought.
but looked, i saw a mirror.
we are so alike.
down to the black MK bag, though mine classier.

i try to think i’m superior; more refined
then how come she gets what i want?

she invited me to a party,
dress code was black & gold.
i looked down at my black bag, i can wear that at the party.
but the details are silver.

then, i looked at hers:
gold.

that is the difference between us,
i give away and act as the better person.
but she comes out on top.

i wear silver but she wears gold.

Fillers overlooked

Reading the papers and the news on TV channels
the festive season has begun like an eager tractor
there is little time for those caught up in wars;
we will remember them at the dinner table.
A woman was given £8 million as a divorce settlement
she had had aroma - therapy worthy of a queen.
The knee caps of Queen Nefertiti has been found
glinting white In the sand. Now there is a hunt for
her thigh bones and perhaps a tuft of hair where
her ****** used to be.
The finder would be the archaeologist of the year
and have his/her picture in the paper plus a story  
to tell of daring do and near misses and a place at
the board of the Guardian which made me think
if the highborn has classier knee caps the rest of us.

Fighting fire with fire
Getting higher and higher
Torch the bowl with the lighter
See the shadows get slighter

I ignite on the night like a new sun
Pregame over now we hit the new club
I’m not tryna take a shot
I’m already burning hot
Blood is flowing so no need to clot

Take me to the dance floor
The music leaves me wanting more
So I shout to the sky like a shaman
Like a freshman on his last pack of ramen
Like a black church at the Amen
But this ain’t no old hymn
I’m creating my own rhythm
My own melody and lyrics
It’s catchier than deer ticks
Classier than top hits
It’s a flow that can’t be stopped
A tidal wave that can’t be mopped
I float around this dancing area
Overwhelmed with mass hysteria
I become one with the crowd
We yell but the music is loud
Our songs coalesce into clouds
Dizzy we aren’t stupid or proud
We’re just happy to still be around

So it’s arms up til the suns up
It’s beer pong and true love
It’s small talk and dope subs
It’s the perfect night
Loose but hella tight
Here and there a fight
I didn’t puke but I might
But if I don’t fly my kite
How will I ever see the light?

So I push it to the limits
I bask in every minute
I go hard til I’m in it
Grab the world and spin it
Breakdance in a basement
Trampolines instead of pavement
When I turn loose on the outside
I am underneath the night sky
I bounce to the beat
Coming off every street
And every person I meet

My prism no longer imprisoned
I view the world with super vision
I see a Mona Lisa
Spray painted on the concrete
Every pile of pizza boxes
Is the leaning tower of Pisa
The lady begging is Mother Theresa
The honking horns: Ave Maria


My head is spinning, I just hurled
My arms are wide, my sails unfurled
My mind is free to see the world

that i fear the fiend might come knocking...
taking masks hanging on wall parallel the stairs...
grating the wall while he stumbles down...
that i fear the fiend might come knowing
oh so little... that he just bought himself an
£18 worth of Eclipse Mount Gay Barbados
***... and he just had a sip of it...
                        fiend... border collie...
       can i catch him before the taste wears off?
after all... even i agree with him... this ***...
which doesn't look like *** at all...
stands right up there... with the best of mr. whiskers
and ms. ambers...

1

i promised myself a whole month of living
inside my head...
    inside my head: mein kopf -
i promised myself to not venture out of
it with either fingers tongue or bruise:
augen allein - mit:
                                    with only eyes...

i promised myself to not
write phantom with phantom:
most assuredly to not write in a drunken
stupor - or somehow:
drunkenly excited: Horace citing or
in admiration for some
  ego-worm from dust in a library burnt
down spawned...

i promised myself a month of living:
if i were to use my hands it would
be to fix up my bicycle...
tighten the brakes...
lubricated the chain and gear cogs...
the wheels...
bake two dozen rhubarb & white chocolate
muffins...
play a little bit of the guitar...
work with a screwdriver...

   make a pork & beef Hungarian
sauce with plenty of peppers and chillies
with smoked paprika and cinnamon
for a potato rosti... or add some flour
to the potatoes and make a potato-pancake
for the sauce...
certainly drink more coffee...

perhaps sip a 25ml sip of some expensive
liquor to remind myself:
sober: come earthquake or tsunami...
i promised myself to live inside my head
for a month: not writing or what
i sometimes call writing:
that crux of an exasperation from
doodling... sketching: marooning
myself on an hour where i could be doing
something plentiful in
the garden...

                    itching for soil beneath
my fingernails...
after all: sober might be just mediocre:
where is that bombastic drunkard who
would write: anything goes?
   irgend etwas geht...
                     gehen weiter... go further...
neu-nüchtern alt-nüchtern:
but it's never the same...

only this time: i haven't given my word:
or honour... i gave my hand
in a handshake: i break that i might
as well chop it off...
and that's no good for a typewriter
of any sort...
    i'd need a hand more dexterous
and probably much bigger...
   and it would be just as well to have
a 2nd thumb: thumb-either side...
i promised myself a month inside my head:
i even called it:

     nüchternlücke... a hiatus of soberness...
periods of 4 days (3 hours prior
to sleep) of treating my liver as a punching
bag - 4 days counting
passing from lump to slime
to all sweat and furriness:

   masks in the hallway: down the stairs
fell... perhaps more perhaps less
than dominos...
              refrigerating a clock...
                                        freezing a cigarette...
not even if the readership plucked
200 x 2... 400 eyes...
i would continue thus...

   reminiscence of those strained sober
in-soma nights:                    work the horse on
to a tight schedule...
                          it was only a superstitious
day three days ago...
a Friday a 13th...
an August a year two-thousand-and-twenty-one...
i cycled a new routine...

2 hours during the day from Harald's &
Harold's Hill / Forrest... and further afield
like atte-Bower teasing a sight of
ol' father Thames and the A13...
through the village of Rainham to and through
the village of Wennington...

bypassing Upminster via the pristine flatness
of the county of Thurrock... Belgium?
not as familiar... but close enough by
comparison... and then full-circle back to Harold's
& Harald's via Great Warley -
but that's of course during the day...

by night an hour's worth of
looking at Friday's, Saturday's and Sunday's
clientele at either Hornchurch or
Romford...
not that much of a terrible sight...
i must have looked worse when drinking...

    such was my youth: only these days
it would appear that the colts are pimping
the mares... Hornchurch girls...
classier than Romford girls...
       O moralist... let the butter churn...
body against body:
you're passing through, anyway...

- but at night when the air is thin
speed becomes multiplied by at least 1.5mph...
make that: 2kmph...
just thinking of a date...
i'd say to her... why don't we cycle these
outer-suburban labyrinths...
while listening to the soft moon:
all downhill from the opening song
breathe the fire -
written by luis vasquez... Spaniard or
-es-que...
                           all the cure you can
hope for... translated into
dig: a 21st century hole...
                      not of Joy or Depeche...
bicycling at night:
from streetlight to streetlight dragging
shadows...
air come night is so much
thinner: less traffic to mind...
no need for comfort, safety...
no high viz. no headlights...
           headphones in...
intuition... unconscious arithmetic of
spatial coordination...
i always felt safest at night...
and using the momentum build-up
of large trucks at a roundabout...

i must forget to have written anything
good drunk: for that matter... this is all
sober... sober judged sober feels
sober the anchor of an "anhedonia":
but only to excess!

       by now the fiend would reply:
past the 35cl mark... smooth sailing on
the rough seas...
otherwise... prior to the 35cl mark...
boat crashing and toiling on a lake's serenity...

i promised myself a month inside
my own head... to rekindle a reading list...
the old Libra: never write more than
you read: read more than you write...

away from the city on the Thurrock platitudes
like lyrics from a Leonard Cohen
song: you don't really care much for music,
do y'ah?
i've wasted my youth on music...
probably as much on movies...
now for the privy of a well-worked-out
bicycle... no need to sing a praise
for sparrows: they're off on their own
chore of song...
sober crow... eternal sober crow...
gallows keeper... the bird than splinters
a pine tree into a thousandth of a thousandth
needle... then threads...
ghostly cotton figurines...

2

a week passes: it's already too late to leave
a carbon footprint, only circa dating...
one approximate late, or later than usual...
Kabul has been resurrected
and is standing face to face with its original
indentation against the mountains...

pity the other commentary:
in Plymouth i see no need for psychiatry...
not that... a Jihadi has any "mental health issues"...
can't see the forest for the trees...
well... it's like that joke i half finished...

an incel, a jihadi & a... pornographic actor...
walk into a bar...
like i said: half-finished...
give terror its due where it's... not hiding behind
some waterfall of milk...
although... as all social commentaries go...
give a jihadi a bride...
                  and you'll probably get half the jihad...
but what to do when the reward is
rejected? by those who... would sooner
**** their own mothers than ****
with an allahu akbar?!


3

what ought to have been a month was only
but a week...
this inflammable whimper of time begun...
by some yesterday... toward some:
but even vaguer tomorrow...
  whimsical whimsical one two and three:
a measure to count with...
a measure to overcome a horizon with...
from plateau to hill to a bundle of curated
forest...
a sea of Thurrock's wheat...
  kinder than the actual sea...
                           i suppose no more than
this... spare me more time away from
this canvas of burning eyes
and skeleton-key letters...
                       i'll return to a time...
when words were sacrosanct... and written
by a priestly class...
when they didn't pierce all things...
so that things were kept intact...
but not here... among the rubble...
   the atoms... the stretched audacities of
a prison cast(e).

A ha'penny accosted a Pound
and picks a fight for it was feeling maligned
' you Pound is worthless, you're nothing'
The Pound looked at the ha'penny benignly,
it understands the inferiority complex inherent in ha'pennies
'Who do you think you are ?', continues our irate ha'penny
I am going to degrade you, I will punch you and devalue you'
'That ain't going to happen' say the pound quietly
Wait and see, croaked ha'penny struggling with apoplexy
'I will call out all my mates and we will sort you out'
'Oh dear',  says the Pound in mock horror
how many mates do you have?'
'Over a thousand mates. I tell you big lummox', replied ha'penny
'But titch, says the Pound, with an indulgent smirk,
you'll still be just be a thousand ha'pennies just as I'll still be a pound,
isn't that so?'.
'Yeah! you think you are better than us, but we are more than you'
raged ha'penny, 'there are thousands of us'
BUT, intoned the Pound,' I am worth more than you and will always
be worth more than you.
I am neater, more valuable and more socially adept not to mention
classier and will always be more useful and wanted'.
The pound continued, ' hey! small stuff, even ten thousand of you,
is nothing but an undesired inconvenience and an irrelevant happenstance,
Who in their right mind is welcoming to ten thousand ha'pennies,
they'll just be bagged and lugged away to a safe or Bank
or perhaps to that gambling arcades at Fair grounds.
See what I mean ha'penny, one or ten thousand
just a common ha'penny
With that, the pound tipped his hat and glided away
Red faced and shaking, ha'penny slinked in usual obscurity
muttering
'Come the revolution, just wait, come the revolution'