Come down the tree, Molly, sweet Molly, sweet Molly,
Come down the tree, Molly and dine ye with me.
And though ye be weary, I’ll make your day cheery
To welcome you, Molly, so young, wild and free.

We’ll live for the season, we’ll love for the reason,
We’ll run o’er the valley, o’er meadow, o’er glen;
We’ll fall in our laughter, and roll morning after,
When things went all awry for now, dear, and then.

Come down the tree, Molly, sweet Molly, sweet Molly,
Come down the tree, Molly and dine ye with me.
And though ye be weary, I’ll make your day cheery
To welcome you, Molly, so young, wild and free.

And ye shall live freely with kitten-girls dearly,
While counting the stars on this summertime’s night
And deep be our need of the champagne and mead
To drink to Contessa, and her kittens tonight.

Come down the tree, Molly, sweet Molly, sweet Molly,
Come down the tree, Molly and dine ye with me.
And though ye be weary, I’ll make your day cheery
To welcome you, Molly, so young, wild and free.

If ought you will tease me, assure you can please me
And that we must merry be, joyous and gay;
Then we’ll live together, both now and forever
While our love prevails each moment a day.

Come down the tree, Molly, sweet Molly, sweet Molly,
Come down the tree, Molly and dine ye with me.
And though ye be weary, I’ll make your day cheery
To welcome you, Molly, so young, wild and free.

She is quiet like the sun.

She reads all day.

She sits alone.

She has no friends.

She tells no one nothing about how she feels.

She simply just sits and reads all day.


She says she understands that her mother is busy all the time.

She says she understand that her father died two months ago from cancer.

She says she understands that her mother has two jobs.

She says she understands that she has to make her own dinner every night.

She says she understands that she has to stay home alone every night.


Ring! Ring! Ring!

Molly answers the phone.


[ Hello Molly .]

[Hello Mom.]

[ Is everything good tonight?]

[ Mom everything is just fine.]


Molly why are you lying?

Molly Why can’t you ask you ask for help?

Molly why can’t you accept that everything is not fine?

Molly? Molly?Ask! Ask! Please! Please!


[ Alight baby, mommy loves you.]

[ I love you too.]

[ Goodnight.]

[ goodBYE mom.]


It has been two hours since Molly got off the phone with her mom.

She sits on the kitchen counter.

She gets down and opens the medicine cabinet.

She grabs the sleeping pills her mother takes when she can’t sleep.

It is recommended to take one a day.

But Molly takes TWENTY sleeping pills.


(9:00 am) Monday morning.

Molly’s mom enters the house.

She walks in the kitchen and sees Molly laying down on the kitchen floor.

Molly!? Molly!?

Tear drops falling out of her eyes like a rainy April Morning onto Molly’s face.

Molly talk to me ,Molly talk to me please!

Molly wrote a note and left it on the ground right besides her.



[ Dear Mom,                                ]

       I love you, everything is fine. But I just have to leave you and reunite with daddy. I’ll see you in a few years when you come and join us. Once again everything is just fine.

                                     p.s. Don’t cry , it’s fine.]



(9:30am) Molly’s mom calls for help.

(10:00am) At the hospital Molly is dead.

Oh my dear friend molly,
How I love you so.
Always there for me,
Oh sweet molly
A your voice is a drug.
Makes me feel comfortable
Like my sweet friend maryjane
All you need is to spark her up
Shes on fire
Makes you feel worth living
I always hang out with maryjane with friends
Even alone
My mom likes her
My family doesn't
My mom hates molly
For a reason unknow
Maybe because she almost killed me
Molly killed my cousin
I miss her but molly is nicer
Makes you happy right?
My cousin never did
I met maryjane when i was 13
Best day of my life
Happy
The happiest i had been in months
At a party is where i met her
Maryjane is my bestfriend
She introduced me to molly
I blame her sometimes for that
But then i hang with molly and i love her
Molly is fake though
Always nice when shes with you
After she makes you feels bad
Like you need her all the time
As if you cant live without her
Oh sweet maryjane never does this to me
She knows ill always come back to her
But molly has a price too
Makes you happy but then harms you
Please leave molly i cant continue to live with you
Maryjane my savior is the one i look up to

I'm not here to f-ck you Molly
     But maybe I can still make you feel beautiful
          Even if you're dead.

You were an "A" girl
     in the red-light district

This side of town
     Your Daddy was a politician

And his best friend
     Was your last appointment

They found your bones under the floorboards,
Molly.
They wanted to put you in a display case,
Molly.
What's your unfinished business
Molly?

You're still showcasing your soul
As an apparition of this apartment

They're here

Isn't it time to move on?
Don't you have light to travel through,
  to get to another physical vehicle?

What keeps you illuminating this place?
I'm not here to ***** you out
Maybe I'm just trying to understand,

What really happens when we die,
Molly?
Are they trafficking ghosts here for profit
Molly?
Have you soul'd out,
Molly?

I woke up
to a nightcalm-shattering
cell phone ringtone.

"Can I come over, baby?"

"What time is it?"

"I don't know 3, 4."

"****," eyes roll, sigh,"yeah I guess so."

"Don't sound too excited," Molly said, Molly laughed.

"Are you going to be long?"

"Nah, I'm already outside."

"Awesome. Okay, let me put on some pants."

I opened the door.
Her hair was up.
Her skin was the color of milk.
Her eyes were grey.
She held keys in the palm of her hand.

"I like your hair," Molly said, Molly laughed.

I said it was getting ridiculous,
she put her hands on my chest,
the tension in the tips of her fingers grew,
exploration, exploration.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Nah, can we just sit on the couch?"

"Sure."

"How's your fella do-"

She kissed the words, to lock them in.
She started to tear at my shirt,
I stalled her advances,
turned the tables,
I'm done with being prey.

I pulled her up gracelessly,
I fell through her crimson shirt,
through her black bra,
I drank each ounce of her chest,
I grabbed her nape gracelessly,
her eyes briefly frightened,
turned sinister,
turned to validation,
turned to encouragement.

I mapped her stomach,
made quick work of her
cotton shorts,
I bit the waistline of
her lace,
she clung to my coagulated hair,
I laid her to the ground,
we warred atop notebooks and
***** t-shirts,
kissing vigorously in an attempt
to stay far ahead of morals, of reasoning.

I feasted on her hip bone,
she tugged at my shirt,
no,no,no.

I removed the lace with my teeth,
her breath was exciting,
I feasted on the insides of her thighs,
she convulsed,
cursed,
grabbed tight to shirt, to hair, to every piece of furniture near.

Molly's pupils, irises, all grew.
Molly's panting *******, moans all rose.
Howling.
Peaking, breaking, releasing, falling,
sighing,
sighing,
breathing.

I wiped my lips with the back of my arm,
got up,
went to the bathroom,
used some mouthwash,
Molly walked in behind me,
"Things have been going better with him, lately, actually."

"I'm ******* happy for you guys."

"There are monsters on the building," she said in the sad song of a West Texas drawl.  She sounded like she did when she talked in her sleep.  We had paused there to examine the doorway the way people do when they know something frightening and important will happen to them on the other side.  

Somehow the banality of the details seemed at odds with the profundity of the situation:  A hot breeze taunted us with the smell of garbage.  Pigeons did their stupid strut and pecked and **** on the sidewalk.  Manhattan pedestrians slogged past through the May heat wave in a sweaty river of hurried lives, each stranger a subtle hint that perhaps our pain wasn't so profound after all.  My own rivers of perspiration seemed to drive the point home.

Molly had more than once accused me of being attracted to the dramatic, and she was right.  In response to this weakness, this juvenile habit of seeing myself as a hero in the story of my life rather than just another person in the world, the God I still half believed in seemed to be punishing me with mundane aggravation as we prepared to defy him:  crowded subways, humidity that pressed in from all sides, growing stains in my armpits.  Now that we had reached the building the half-believed God added a master stroke of lewdness.  Squatting on the threshold of our destination were a pair of gargoyles [cement artistic tradition combined with superstition] that peered down at us with obscene toothy grins.  

Molly tugged on my damp fingers, and asked again,  "Greg, why are there monster's on the building?" Her eyes seemed both accusatory and desperate for affection, but her voice was sleepy, like she was trying to pretend it was all just a dream.

"I don't know," I said.  "It doesn't matter."

It was true.  It didn't matter accept as a symbol in a story that somewhere deep in my mind I was shamefully conscious I would someday write.  Disgusting but unavoidable for the boy I was at 19, a boy who wanted to be important someday, wanted to be important by being "a writer," and didn't see how he could ever be anything else.  

"Write what you know" they say, but I was just an upper middle class white kid, nothing important had ever happened to me.  This was important.  This was life and death.  Most of me lived it but part of me watched from outside.

We went inside and found the elevator, then the waiting room.  I held her left hand while she filled out the forms with her right.  I told her I loved her, trying to say it like a transcendent spiritual truth that could make all the facts of our situation irrelevant and sweep them off somewhere they didn't matter.  

Then a nurse came and took her away.  

It offended me that despite the life and death business conducted behind the wall, the waiting room looked just like any other.  Maybe worse.  Worn out office furniture in generic shades of brown.  Stacks of magazines that looked like they had been procured second hand from some cleaner pricier office where happier people sit and smile about life while they fill out forms and wait.

I glanced around the room, careful to avoid eye contact.  There were two other men, one white one black, both looking sad and dejected, staring into space, thinking of the women in that other room I just like me I figured, wishing there was something they could do.  

I selected a magazine with half its cover missing.  Celebrities at a party.  Celebrities at the beach.  I put the magazine down.

I should be feeling more than this, I thought, and that thought seemed shameful too.

It was still a question about me.  The pathetic existential question that has always gnawed my television generation:  Why can't I just be real?  The question brought more shame.  Why are you asking these questions?  This inner monologue  ...  they are killing your son in there!  They are ripping him out of the girl you love.  Shut up and just feel!  Or don't feel, and just shut up.  

Searching myself for sadness I found again a numb disgust for being outside myself and looking in.  

I thought of praying but an image came to me of Jesus struggling to carry his cross up a hill.  He was being chased by His Father who took the form of the God of old paintings, a long white beard, muscled body, the eyes of a tyrant. God was leading an angry mob, scaring Jesus up the hill to his death, screaming at Him:  "This is what my son was meant for!  You don't have any other choice!"  It was not the sort of image I hoped prayer would inspire.

Finally I arrived at the thought I was avoiding:  Molly crying on a cold table, machines inside her, everything happening too fast.  I had asked if I could go with her and hold her hand.

"No," the nurse had said with a touch of scorn, like the question was not just dumb, but an insult to women everywhere.  Why would she let the guilty party make things worse?

A few yards away there were doctors working machines inside the womb of the only girl I had ever loved, taking the life of a child I would never know.  But even if I had wanted to stop them, which I didn't, it was too late now.  

It was the first life and death decision either of us would make, and even though I would try to console her with the idea that we had chosen life, our own lives, our own futures, right or wrong, I knew we had also chosen death for our first child. Death always brings sadness, and despite whatever happiness we might still enjoy in the years to come, this sadness would would linger with us, in some form, forever, unless we came together to conceive another child and raise it.  This is not what Jesus told me.  This is what I told him.  He listened but he didn't seem to care.  He had no time for *******.

Molly appeared in the doorway to the back rooms where I had not been allowed to go with her.  I would have liked to go with her back there.  I would have held her hand, made her know that we were doing it together, that I was equally if not more culpable in this death than her, and if that were not possible, and it probably was not, at least I could have held her hand.            

But I was not allowed back there.  She went through it alone with strangers all around her speaking in professionally sensitive tones.
      
I put down the magazine and went to her.  Her face was blotchy, and there was still dampness in her eyes.  She had been crying for awhile and she was crying still.  A nurse's hand was on her shoulder.
      
"She was very brave,"  the nurse said, like Molly was a four year old who had just made it through her first hair cut without squirming.
      
"Will she be okay?"
      
"Yes, but now you need to take her home so she can rest."
      
The nurse disappeared.  I held Molly, and kissed her forehead, and told her how much I loved her and always would.  She did not speak and her body felt lifeless in my arms.  I led her back to the elevator and then out into the Manhattan bustle.  The humid heat had reached its most brutal hour, and I began to sweat immediately as we walked towards the subway.
      
We passed a deli.  I asked if she was hungry and she nodded.  I went inside and used the little money I had to buy a sandwich and two bottles of juice and we found a bench in the shade and sat there to eat.  She ate a little and drank some of her juice and then finally
spoke.
      
"It was a spot."
      
"What?"
      
"It was a spot.  They showed me.  It was a little black spot on a screen."
      
"It's okay, Molly  It's going to be okay," I lied.
      
"It was my little girl, but she was just a spot.  They showed me and then they took her away forever."
      
"I love you.  I love you so much."  It was true and all I could think to say and it didn't help much.
      
I brought her downtown to the financial district where I was staying that Summer in an NYU dorm with a friend from High School.  We were there to take film classes together.  Our parent's had allowed us to spend extra on the best housing, and the dorm we stayed in was actually an apartment on the 14th floor of a building with a doorman across from South Street Seaport.  It had a kitchen, high ceilings, and huge windows with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge, and even a
separate bedroom.  Fortunately Rick had allowed me the private room so he could have the larger one with the view and the television, so there was a place for Molly and I to go behind a locked door and lay down.

We got in the little bed together and curled into a combined fetal position.  I kissed the back of her neck and she took my hand and placed it on her pelvis where I could feel the bandage rustling under her sweatpants.
      
"Can you feel it?"
      
"Everything will be all right," I almost said, but it felt like garbage on the tip of my tongue and I had not yet grown used to lying except to myself.

I hadn't known there would be a bandage.

"Yes.  I can feel it,"  I said.  This, at least, I knew was true.

I lay there with her like that with my hand where our child had
grown for a few weeks and we fell asleep.

When I awoke, the room was gray with dusk, and Molly was snoring peacefully.  I got out of the bed carefully without disturbing her, sat at my desk, and opened my favorite drawer.  There was my small purple glass pipe, and a little baggy stuffed with the high quality marijuana that in my experience, you can only find in New York City, the Pacific Northwest and American Colleges.  I filled the pipe, lit it, and pulled hard, holding it in as long as I could and then coughing intentionally on the exhale for the fullest effect.  I repeated the process until the bag was nearly empty, lit a cigarette, and sat at the desk with my feet up, looking back and forth from the
high rise across the street to the young woman in my bed, contemplating life and love and God and the future.  

In that moment, high as I was on the drug and the city and the relief of having made it through the day, it truly did seem that everything would be all right.

I had taken to writing poetry a few months before, and I found a
piece of paper and began to write another:

God sat in the abortion clinic waiting room
while they killed his only son.
"My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
"I don't know.  It seemed like the right thing to do."
      
I thought I had the beginnings of a very good poem.  I hoped maybe, someday, somehow my poetry might change the way people thought about things.  I was young and stupid and ****** and my mind was about to crack open completely and let forth a torrent of strangeness.

I was very sad.

-2001

fightingcopsnaked.blogspot.com
brickdumbsublime.blog­spot.com

"*******, you got ***** by the sun," Molly discovered
as she lifted my stained, white, awkward v-neck off.
She proceeded to kiss down my San Diegan,
sun-painted spine.
"Does it hurt?"

"Nah, do you want more wine, foxy?"

"Sure, just a little bit. I'm feelin' pretty good."

I snagged the bottle from the freezer,
tore the cork out with my teeth,
as I was grabbing her glass off the counter,
I heard her unbutton, unzip, and undress
her loose jeans and her cotton *******,
I heard her throw them to the floor,
as I finished pouring.

I turned,
she was pulling a blanket over
her milky legs, settling into the couch.
As I drew close to her exposed black toenails,
I smiled in pseudo-polite fashion,
"You know these 3-4 a.m. calls gotta stop.
You're going to ******' **** me."

She giggled in a high pitch,
like a perfect 10-year-old,
it made me even more on edge,
"Oh shut up," laugh, laugh, continued,
"you know you love it. We couldn't
do this any other time."

I handed over her glass,
sat in front of her curled toes
on the ridge of the couch.

Her black fingernails skidded
along my weather-beaten skin.
There was no empathy, no exhalation,
no rejuvenation in them.
I had hit a deep low.
Not even the coast could save my soul.

I didn't dance around it,
I skipped ahead to my favorite question,
"How are things with your fella?"
My inflection made the question seem painless
to answer, and maybe it was, but it was hard
to listen.

"Um, well, we broke up on Thursday."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, anywayz, he called me last night,
asking if he could come chit-chat with me,
I said I guess so, and we stayed up like all
night, and we really worked everything out.
It felt so good to clear it up. So we are back
together, to normal, I suppose. What got me
was he told me he loved me and would-"

"Would do anything for you? Or some **** like that?"

"Well, yeah. God, what is your problem? You've
been acting like a **** all night."

I swallowed, with desert difficulty,
grabbed her glass, took a large drink,
she tried to take it out of my hand,
but I pushed her fingers away,
looked straight in her pretty, deceiving eyes,
they were getting antsy, I waited for the alcohol
to hit my head, and once it did,
I cleared my throat, and maintaining
the theme of cool detachment said,
"Molly," exhale, "you are a ******* idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I said you are a ******* idiot."

"You have no roo-"

"Hey, it isn't just you. ******' victim of your age.
Every girl I know is hung up on some *******,
that didn't really do anything special,
just timed dating with some holy moment in your life.
It all comes down to laying your claim at the right time.
When your head is still doped with that 'the one' crap."

"You have no ******* clue what you are talking about!
The first time I kissed him I felt like I would
be kissing only him for the rest of my life."

"You were 18."
I said barely above a whisper.
Molly was straining, tears were welling,
my mouth was spitting out everything,
that within a few hours' wisdom,
I would come to regret.

"Love isn't reserved for a certain age, *******!"

"That may be true, but let me just say this: if he is
'the one', then why are you here?
Your true love didn't come with a special rider
enabling the privilege of sporadic 4 a.m. *****
with people that are so beat down,
you assume them to never give a ****."
Every venomous word, stated calmly, collected,
with light cruelty.

"I....I..." her voice was cracking, spiraling,"I don't know
you just seemed interesting."
She buried her face in my arm,
I took another drink from her glass,
stared straight ahead.
She was muttering muffled things like, "I really do love him"
into my arm and torso.

She spat and moaned for 15 minutes are so.
Volumes rose and fell in cascades
of civil war. The roar dulled to a whimper,
the whimper dulled to silence.

She regained her composure,
she stood up, no nervousness,
she recovered her naked lower body,
she got the button in the loop and
the silence I tore,
"I didn't sign up to be an asterisk,
some ******* footnote in the history
of your love. I wanted to save you."

Molly laughed.
She ******* laughed.

Molly rolled her eyes.

She rested one hand on
hot skin,
grabbed my chin with the other,
and aimed my gaze toward her.

"Don't lie. You aren't allowed to.
We've been friends too long for that.
You needed a muse, a change of pace,
and I hate to say it, but you are
always going to be somebody's footnote
if you don't have any self-respect.
You never let yourself be happy.
You are too caught up in experiencing
all the lows to allow yourself to
feel high. You used to be so much
fun. You used to be so sweet.
Try to find that guy again."

With that,
Molly grabbed her purse,
kissed my forehead,
slid into her shoes,
strolled smooth and soft
out the door and into
the early morning air.
I took another drink.

Molly has a rider! Molly has a rider!
All curled up and tucked inside her

Oh Molly, oh Molly what will you do?
With a fellow inside you, who just isn't you

Molly take cover, Molly get clear
Perhaps your new lover is causing your fear

Perhaps gentle Molly the life that you lead
Is vampire slang for the blood that you bleed

My Molly, my Molly, my enemy mine
Has dropped out and turned on inside of my mind

Alive behind eyes that were once mine alone
I have company watching from zones of its own

She’s a burning, beautiful, ****** tease.  When she runs her hands over my abdomen, she breaks everything familiar to me into complicated shards. My only plans were to study with the other Molly. Then she shows up, coiling herself around anyone next to her, jokes about ***, waits for me to finish homework so we can go to Nomad, says “can we pretend to be lesbians tonight?” I said “I guess”, but I’m thinking “what? Really?” A ******* tease.  She lights two cigarettes and slips the extra one out of her mouth and gives it to me. She talks to Jason, and I find a beautifully attractive 36 year old named Miles.  I let Miles run his hands down my back, then I let Molly have a turn. It goes back and forth. I’m so torn between his cute glasses and sweater, and her wild hair, and long black skirt. But Molly’s also got her dangerous eyes. The ***** gimlets came out again, and she tries to teach me how to salsa. Grabbing me tight: “I go back, you go forward, we meet in the middle”. Then as if there were a timer in them, her hands dive for me, all over me, wonderfully everywhere. Her hand slips down my shirt, but that is another tease. Her other hand pulls my shirt down off my skin, but I stop her out of instinct. She decorates my cheeks with the longest lasting kisses. She blows in my ear. She asks, “Are you uncomfortable?” I say, “No. are you?” But I’m trembling below. She hands me to Miles again, and I watch her lips eat up another guy, while he goes farther and farther up my skirt. I let Miles’s hands be rough. I let him kiss me, and then pull him outside so we can interrupt them. She says, “You speak Russian to him, I’ll speak French.” Foreign words loft from her mouth like cigarette smoke. Miles leaves after I refuse to go home with him. Molly gives the guy her number, takes my hand and drives me home. I say “so you’re getting laid tonight, I’m going home alone. Again. Alone again.” She says, “What if he doesn’t text me? Then I’m all yours.” I don’t expect her to follow me inside, but she does. I put the kitten in her arms, she says “where’s your room?” and we fall on the bed. Nothing ever escalates from careful strumming of fingers on skin. But when I complain about getting no *** again, she starts to speaking words that are sexually vicious.  “Well, we’re both wet. I’ll tell Miles how you like to be touched when I’m gone. I’ll tell him–[in her German accent]-how you’d like to be spread open.” Her hair is still wild and gorgeous, and I run my hands through it once. She’s wrapped in a vintage plaid coat. Then she leaves. Says she’s tired. Hugs me, bites my ear, and says she loves me. And by standards of a miracle, I was not left alone feeling miserable. But now I have to do something about her.

If you’re going to tempt me like that, then I’m not letting go of you until I get what I want. Or more likely: “Molly, I really like guys but then there’s you. You show up, and your hands explore more and more of me, but you always stop an inch before you’ve gotten to all of me. Molly, congrats, you’ve got this control over me now. Why don’t you take it further? It doesn’t have to mean anything. We don’t have to tell anyone. If you don’t, you’ll have to watch me go ******* crazy. You drive me. Crazy.

Molly my dear
Though i spend my days 
In conversation, please
Remember me
Molly my love 
Don't forget me
Molly my dear

Hold your head up
You pretty girl
Look what you've done
When you find yourself 
In the thick of it
Help yourself to a bit
Of what is all around you
Pretty girl

Take a good look around you
Take a good look, 
You're bound to see
That you and me
Were meant to be
With each other
Pretty girl

Hold your hand out
You pretty girl
See what you've done
When you find yourself 
In the thick of it
Help yourself to a bit
Of what is all around you
You pretty girl

Molly my dear
You have always been
My inspiration, please
Be good to me
Molly my love
Don't forget me
Molly my dear

she met molly at a festival
molly made her happy
molly made her dance
molly made her forget

we’re gonna be best friends forever
molly whispered in her ear

she popped another
forever and ever
she replied with a smile

Molly came to school when I was fourteen
but she was years older, appearing as a beautiful traveller
who'd circled the globe and made friends with everybody.

She was always the popular one, but one I never got to know,
because my sister at thirty-five told me that she had killed a man
once or twice.

The kids I knew found this hard to believe, as Molly got to know them all.
She'd hang out with them after school, and was always there,
waiting to widen her circle.
Molly never lost her charm,
and she stole the hearts of boys I loved.
She opened their eyes to a world I could not show them,
she drank their blood on Friday nights.
Every boy I'd meet would have a story to tell,
her name dropped like an atom bomb into conversation.

They'd all met her.
They all knew her.

They met her at nightclubs,
and stopped caring about how **** the music sounded
They met her on their holidays ,
and tasted her before the alcohol wore off
They met her at festivals,
where she'd creep into their tents before the main stage lit up

I wonder maybe one day will we be friends
Instead of resenting each other
because she's killed a man
more than once or twice

Molly is not my friend.
Stole my lover,
Never to come back again,
Do I embrace your body? these wounds to mend?
For my soul, for worse, is left arend

If only Molly were my friend,
She left me high and dry again.
On lonely nights,
To great heights,
Her choice, her life, my hole, mine, to contend.

I wish Molly never existed,
Never be apart, our love never blistered.
My only wish, I could have fixed it,
But I don't believe you,
You don't believe me,
Because I believe broken is better than twisted.

No, Molly is not my friend.

Molly, at last I bid you adieu,
You sounded so pretty, until she met you.
Your tongue lashed out and tickled her ear,
Her hands play with your Mercury, it's luminescent sheer,
No thought of what she leaves behind, she is who she chooses to do.

I called her Molly Bloom.
Then the final blossom fell from Molly
As I sipped over the lip of morning.
She grew on me.

I grow into things as well.
I was once worried about my height,
But I had large feet,
Not to worry.

I grew as the present slipped.
Hair was important
To grow.
It appeared, slowly, on arms,
Pits, lips and legs.
And groin pains followed.
Atrophy and entropy grow,
Take root like my historical assimilations.

I daily **** out apathy.
Molly was different.
She was presented with love,
And received with indifference,
Then I cared too much.
She was my Bloomsday
When I raised her ashen petalled face.
Should I vacation on Reunion Island
Where they make great ***.
I could pestle her blooms to reinvigorate myself.
Or kid myself, believing her shadow
Will open in the sun.

the yellow sun
was shining down
on grass and sand and waves
it was a place
where children went
to laugh
and dance
and
play.

as molly ran
and wandered off
she found a magic thing
a deep blue house
carved out of stone
in which the wind
would sing.

the other children
climbed about
and gazed into
the cave
and johnny said
“i’ll lead the way”
(because he was most brave)
and tad and tommy
followed him,
for they were big
and strong
while alice chose
to stay outside
but molly tagged along.

the dark was very chilly
and the silence, very wet
johnny shivered and looked back
but couldn’t leave
just yet.
now molly didn’t notice:
awe
and wonder
filled her eyes;
she found a solace
in the stillness,
comfort,
in the pitch black sky.

when suddenly, there came a rustle
from a hundred winged things
as dark as sin
with deep red eyes
shrieking
just like rusted swings.

tommy was the first one out
(his long legs made him fast)
then john and tad
ran into alice
and tumbled on the grass.
and when the world
had settled down,
the quiet had returned
they saw that one
was not around
and they became concerned.


but don’t you worry,
little molly
was fine as fine can be
as she uttered boldly to the dark:
“you never frightened me"

The Mouse with the house on the River Louse
Now has a family of 12 to feed
A husband and ten smaller mouths all reside with the Mouse in the house on the River Louse

One day the Mouse with the house on the River Louse went outdoors to explore with the intention to find something tasty and fine to feed them all

She walked to the edge of the grounds to the bank of the River Louse, where her friend the Frog, who didn't live in a house but lived on a log in the middle of a bog with his friend Bee, was waiting for his friend to serve her tea

The Frog and The Bee showed the Mouse with a House on the River Louse a table set fit for a Queen with fine China cups, saucers and plates and a tablecloth made of lace

The Mouse with a House on the River Louse was delighted and very excited as the Frog and The Bee said at half past three they would be joined for tea by a new neighbour Miss Molly

According to the Frog and Bee Miss Molly had just moved with her dog and cat, a dog named Mouse and Ferret the Cat

At half past three Miss Molly came to tea and brought with her muffins and cream
The Frog and The Bee brought scones and jam and the Mouse with the house on the River Louse brought some crackers and cheese

The children of the Mouse with a House on the River Louse joined their mother and Miss Molly, the Frog and The Bee the Cat named Ferret and the Dog named Mouse and quickly polished off the delicious tea

The children and the cat and dog all asked if they could play in the bog, the bog where the Frog lived in the middle on a log.

The Mouse with a House on the River Louse agreed and so did Miss Molly and the Frog and Bee

The children, the Cat and Dog all played happily in the middle of the bog

The children, the Cat and Dog found some sticks in the bottom of the bog and began to weave and make a raft, all they needed was a a Sail to catch the draft

One of the children squeeked with excitement  when they found a lily pad on the ground
Quickly the lily pad was hoisted atop and the raft completed and ready to sail in a hop

The children, Ferret the Cat and the Dog named Mouse were playing lovely outside the house, pushing the raft up and down as not a drop of wind was to be found
Then suddenly the wind changed direction and the northerly winds began to blow, they started really slow but the wind got faster and very strong
The children, Cat and Dog couldn't hold on for very long and suddenly they were being taken away from their safe play, being carried down stream and they all did scream

Just like that Dad came home and took out of his pocket a telephone
He called the coastguard to come quick, a raft had drifted and was headed for the slip, soon they would be in the ocean with the bigger ships

Aboard the raft 10 young mice, Ferret the Cat and a Dog named Mouse, all huddled together, to be less afraid, hoping someone would save the day

The coast guard turned up at the house and asked to speak to the Head Mouse
Mother and Father together they spoke, eager to save their children cut afloat on the boat

Then at half past four came a big roar the coastguards had saved the day, the raft had been caught and brought on board just before they got to the edge of the bay and sailed away to the bigger bay

The Mouse who had a House on the River Louse, Dad, Molly the Dolly and Frog and Bee all shouted ecstatically "Thank you Lord for hearing our prayers and sending the men who saved the day and rescued our children from the mouth of the bay"

The Mouse who had a house on the River Louse counted the heads, toes and noses of the children to confirm they were all safe and then said their goodbyes and ushered them all safely inside

Thugged out since cub scouts.
Fun starts when school's out.
Molly, Mary, and Lucy dearest,
girls who keep my vision clearest.

I"m up, so who's down?
Fools runnin' round fools town.
School night, nobody cares.
We're all magnifying Ms. Mary's hair.

Singing: Crystal, crystal, on my nugs.
Mary Jane gives killer hugs.
Makes you feel all warm and cozy.
Such is merry Mary's mozy.

Molly's always in a rush.
Hair a mess and face a flush
There's music on and always dancing
when I find myself in Molly's mansion.

Lovely Lucy's quite unstable
Smart as any math-enabled
pencil pushing silly geek.
Though Lucy's strong and they are weak.

Lovely Lucy lives to peak.
To test how well her mind can speak.
The circles she see's in the spaces.
In between those hidden places.

She see's faces, only faces.
Names and words just seem abrasive.
For Lucy's not afraid to BE.
The same as you and same as me.

Molly Mary and Lucy dearest.
Girls who keep my vision clearest.
Sisters spawned from Father Mind.
Who married all these girls to mine.

Molly Upstairs was the first to greet me
as I moved in
immediately she showed me a new tattoo
she had just had done
upper left arm
it looked like a dart board
she didn’t say why but
within five minutes I had learned her father
had been abusive she had crap taste in men
always went for muscle over brains
her fatal flaw
and
how she paid for it oh how she paid
but
I benefited from the muscle as she hollered up
the stairs and a huge bloke in a grubby bat wing tee shirt
and denim cut offs appeared
grinning, calling me Chief,
and carried the rest of my gear in
without complaint and Molly Upstairs
told me a Norwegian lived on the ground floor
computer geek
worked for a software firm on the edge of town
renting cheap creaming his expenses
and a guy called Sanjeev lived next door to me
sweet guy from Mumbai always looking to borrow
an iron
and to go out for a drink with anyone at
anytime anywhere
another computer nerd she reckoned
and she was all legs and little denim skirt and a
pink tee-shirt that said ‘**** Buddy’
and blond hair pulled back in a black scrunchie
and offered to bake me a cake but she
assured me
it wouldn’t be a sponge one
know what I mean
the peel of crazy laughter from above
the sound of Red Hot Chilli Peppers starting up
pounding bass
the shower’s ****
the landlord’s a ****
if you’ve got a motor
don’t park out the back it’ll get nicked
best to drink and smoke
to dull the pain
but always remember
to have a laugh

The world according to
Molly Upstairs.

We sip our coffee and tea
and walk down the street
and hold hands
you and me would be we
but in this reality
I'd have to be
a decent man

I didn't just **** up,
have bad luck
bust
and give my cards back to the dealer
I tore the ace up
Made with poison what you sip from your cup
and then realized there's no clear healer

me and Molly
We coulda been somethin'

You wouldn't know
but my mind shows
pictures of us
when our love was present
but here I go
never hearing no
I let my voice flow but nothing is resonant
Your corner lip curl
could be the reason you'd be my girl
and we'd explode
but there's no fire from me
since I dented your world
I want your bullets
but it's not a gun you'll reload

me and Molly
We coulda been somethin'

You told me if I threw the rock
at the swings
and it hit the post we'd kiss
so I jumped and ran
frightened the flock
ensured I wouldn't miss
I'll remember it forever
we've now grown different feathers
but still both of us can fly
I've got a perfect view
sitting on your never
nothing clever
ever
from the boy who wants to be your guy

but picked the worst moment to try
everything you said about me was right

Molly
honestly
I'm sorry

I think of you often
it always makes my soul soften

knowing that we can't be
something
because of me

What I wouldn't give
to take back what I did
how I ******* did it
But your light
shines bright
just fine
as long as I stay hidden

It's been years and I can still feel you in my arms
feel your breath on my face
Still know your favorites, triggers to your alarms
and the edge of your lips I could trace

I should probably forget
but that memory lies on a slant
I was never on your level
I try to push it off, I can't

me and Molly
We coulda been somethin'

molly
the waitress
at Town diner

wants to be a model
or a nun,
tells me she's a poet

we're sitting on
a couch in her apartment.
molly takes a poem from
a foot high stack
on the end table,
hands me a poem,
"FIRST BRA," by Molly C.
it's about buying
her first bra at 12.
"i was big.
i needed a bra at 11,"
she smiles.

now
she doesn't wear bras.

she tells me
rod mckuen
is the most read
poet
in America.

"what about walt,
plath,
hughes?" i asked.

"no
no,"
she says,
"mckuen is the MOST
popular poet
in American history,
no,
really
the greatest American poet."

molly loves rod mckuen.

i love molly.

"if the public loves
rod mckuen,"
i tell her,
you've got a shot.
you could be the  female version
of rod mckuen."

molly smiles
takes me by the hand
and leads
me up the stairs
to the loft.

she takes the ribbon
from her hair.

i lay her down
on the bed

and bang the hell
out of
the next
most read
American poet

It all started because of a note from Molly,
I understand jealousy, but thinking I'd cheat is folly.

Molly hung out 1 night before we met (it would be 6 months 'til then),
But my sister liked Molly, so Molly was never seen again.

Molly and I had talked all night, and Molly left a sweet note,
Sentimental, I tucked it away under some old winter clothes.

You found it in a drawer almost a full year later,
You made your assumptions, and said, "After a while, alligator."

I think you made your decision that night at the club,
You let me walk by, let her take my hand, and decided it wasn't love.

I was there waiting for you, that chick was, shall we say, promiscuous,
She waited around a corner, but you waited, and watched, suspicious.

I knew you'd never believe that she'd kissed me, I still told the truth,
But you were that raver girl in the hall, and you thought you knew.

Up the stairs went molly Pratchett,
in her hands a little hatchet.

Squealing loud in girlish glee,
at all the gore that she'll see...

Slowly down the hall she crept,
to the room where her parents slept.

She raised the hatchet over her head
and slowly tiptoed over to their bed...

She sank the hatchet into their heads
until alas they were dead....
  
Now she sits in a padded cell
where they keep here very well.

They closed the door then they latched it
This ends the tale of molly Pratchett,


OR DOES IT?.................................

O Dear Miss Molly,
can you meet me?
Can you meet meet me
in the upper hallway
after supper,
and begin
a lil' sin?

And O Molly,
can you please wear,
can you please wear
your cute
French outfit
without your
******* on?

O Sweet Miss Molly,
I'll unscrew the bulb,
sweep you
off you feet,
playing deeply
in the shadows,
be your loving butler.

"What are you doing here?"

It was the wrong place
for pale, blonde Ms. Molly.
She was into God and other holy things
like Sundays.

2 a.m.

Everybody turned a shade of grey,
meaning nothing to me,
only Molly,
her crystal blue eyes watercolored
by murky bongwater,
at my personal Mother Superior's home.

"What?"

"I said, 'What are you doing here?'"

"Just bored, I guess."

"****. Really?"

"Yeah, this guy-um...****...Chris-no-"

"Brooks" said Brooks.

"Brooks is like a friend of mine. He sits
by me n'stuff."

Somebody put on Neutral Milk Hotel's
"O Comely" and we all sang along.
Innocent, our melody felt like
a jagged kaleidoscope.
I passed the ****, no hit for me, not tonight,
to appreciate Molly's smiles I wanted to be
coherent.

"You know, Josh, it's ******* weird."

"What?"

"That I haven't talked to you in four years,
and then we end up at the same campus,
and we are best friends."

She leaned over and kissed my smokey, worn
cheek. Her lips smooth, fine.
No one around said a word.
Everyone knew she had a man.
But are best friends allowed to
be lovers from time to time?
I ******* hope so.

See the Molly had her singin happy days for happy ways...
little did she know she'd end up in alleyways...
selling body for protection...
have *** with no protection....
food and water became a luxury...
because Molly was necessary...
and little sherry from south Philly
changed her name to something silly. ..
cuz them happy days got so scary
that she lost all parts of Sherry...
Sweatin in her sleep..
****** on the streets...
Because Tommy wanted money,
she got more than she could hope.....
so he could keep her coming,
back he gave her Molly lace with dope....