step number one: read the book wintergirls.
tuck away every detail like you're cramming for a test.
dog-ear the pages and carry it with you like a travel guide.
decide that with your fingers and toes always icy cold for as long as you can remember,
you were destined to be a wintergirl.
reread it periodically, for inspirational purposes.

step two: download the myfitnesspal app.
use it to track every calorie you put into your body.
memorize that an oreo has seventy calories, an apple has one hundred, a cup of hot chocolate has eighty,
a bagel has two hundred seventy (a number that terrifies you),
and on and on and on.
let numbers float behind your eyes just before you go to bed,
and let them stay there as you throw off the covers to do guilty pushups and situps in your room
for twenty minutes (burning one hundred and twenty calories).
ignore the warnings shouted at you in red text
when you eat less than twelve hundred calories per day.
look at the projections it gives you for five weeks from now
with weights that seem both too small and too large at the same time.
when your net for the day hits the negatives after weeks of trying,
feel the slightest pang of satisfaction.

step three: find your "thinspiration".
make a tumblr just to look at pictures of jutting-out spines and thigh gaps and ribs.
hold your phone up next to your reflection in the mirror
and pick out everywhere your body differs from hers.
when the girls on the fitness blogs start looking too heavy for your goal,
find the eating-disorder blogs.
obsess over their bodies almost as much as you obsess over yours,
but not quite as much.

step four: begin losing weight.
imagine yourself floating away, feather-light.
imagine yourself becoming skin and bones.
imagine this as you drag your heavy body from class to class,
as your muscles waste from malnutrition.
imagine this as you have to clean your hairbrush out
three times while you work tangles from your hair.
imagine this as you snap at anyone and everyone,
as you spend hours locked in your room.

step five: become a poet and write about yourself.
romanticize your own demons, just by calling them demons.
use as many metaphors as you can,
to avoid the harsh language of the truth.
and especially avoid writing about the crippling guilt
that hits you when you eat too much,
you're fat you're worthless you'll never be anything,
and hits you when you don't eat enough,
what's wrong with you how did you let it get to this point
voices in your head never abating.
avoid writing about your lack of motivation and constant exhaustion and always,
always, use words that imply mystery.
describe your mind as foggy, call your body diminishing.
never say it how it is, because you could convince yourself to quit.
never say that it's torture and you're in pain
and you just wish you were eight again, never considering this path.
never say that you need help but you don't want help.

if you have the urge to say these things,
say only that this disorder is not one you would willingly give up,
because you finally have something to control.
because it is the truth,
but it is also the romanticized truth.

Generous coasting of the west coast
leaves me tangled in roots from roads
intersecting with waves surfed by
long blond-haired beach bums and
babes who pant at a muscular man
that pushups on the boardwalk
next to towels drying on the
handlebars of my bicycle.

I ride and ride and ride
through weather thought to be
unrideable by most cyclists
even if million-dollar-prize
tempted them at the finish line
and a set-for-life sponsorship
was promised to any and all
who could fight through the storms
of what I stoically battle.

No gear or goggles,
just legs of toned steel from
nights spent heating them over
a log-lit fireplace on spit
while keeping intense conversation
with lover across my gaze
until she escapes unexpectedly
into dreams, unaccompanied by me.

My legs are on fire,
no rain can extinguish them
and no slick roads
will stop my going.

Fingernails dug out of steering wheel
in the out door, not enough gin to ****
50 pushups. 50 more. Change my body
Maybe you won't ignore
Ambien, the lull of the ceiling fan,
the crowds of protestors disband --
the blanket warm, cosmos tease and can,
malaise, malaise, I'm trying to be active
and sane, sane for the next promise ring holder
and wine cooler queen, here comes the switch:
ether.
The night brings me back to you
by way of illusion --
you've got lingerie
I've got needs
You've got teeth
I've got shoulder blades
so it begins,
white knuckle, culling songs, strain on scalp --
I sing along, ancient melody, satin dirge --
precursor to your soliloquy and black venom urge
to scatter this bandaged man--
pieces in your hand,
collected and left on 100 dressers
for ill-informed future connivers
conspire
but I'm only tired of trying not
to look like a liar
so I blend into your blood
satisfied smirk from
transparent you
but what is the future
--a present hope
but what is the past
--a present memory
so we abolish each other now
betting on tangible mirages
in this delicious, miraculous night  
the stars align
the planets collide
not an inch of you goes unkissed
not an inch of me goes without an itch
blackness and breath swirl and spit
me into a confetti end time without prophet or priest
only a skinny seed, and then the switch:
wake with a present hope of getting over
my present memory.

1 pushup
i forget your face
2 pushups
i forget your fingers
3 pushups
i forget your
lips
i forget your nose
4
for
get
your
shoulders
5
forget
the back of your
neck
6
forget your thighs
touching mine
7
remember our smells
together
spicy
vibrant
8
remember the sound of our shoes
on the pavement
9
remember the river
10
remember the symphony of our laughter
11
oh look
back to 1's
again
well
at least
i know
where i am

you say my eyebrows could use a plucking
you say my lips are colorless and dull
you say my eyes could use defining
you say my cheeks are much too full
criticize my face all you want
it won't have any effect
but tell me that i am unpleasant
and inside it will leave me a wreck

you say my ******* could stand to be bigger
you say my waist is much too wide
you say my thighs could stand be thinner
you say there is too much fat on my side
ridicule my body all you want
it won't cause me to cry
but tell me you hate my existence
and i will find it hard to get by

you say my grades aren't quite up to *****
you say my face often looks very dim
you say i should do more pushups
you say i should connect with a him
laugh at my lifestyle all you want
it won't cause me distress
but tell me you've told all my secrets
and it will leave me very depressed

My kids need me,
and there is so much to see!
I have a great camera!
Yet I NEVER take pictures
because I am Old,
and Tired,
and ******* LAZY.

So Yeah.
Time to change all that.

So help me.
ASK.
Pushups,
Walks,
Hikes,
Exercise,
Some heart pumping task.
Please,
Feel free to ask!

Believe it or not, I don't lie.

(Or rarely anyway)

So ask me what I have done today,
I didn't mean to turn this into a poem,
Didn't mean to rhyme,
But this is how I write when I really FEEL,
This is how I am in my own private mind.

Good God,
(I say this with that knowledge that most of my friends don't believe,
But to them I say,
***** you,
God is always true,
Even if you don't believe in him
(or the greater power, or it, or whatever),
He still believes in YOU! :)

It doesn't matter to me,
Or to him,
Living a moral life is really what matters,
Even if you never sing a single Hymn.
People have it wrong.

And I ask you,
The Old Dude Upstairs,
Please lend me your tolerance and Strength,
Help me overcome my Laziness,
Because I want to LIVE,
TO SEE,
TO BE ,

And I won't,
Not if I continue down that path that I walk now.

It is hard,
But I have faith,

If you can't,
God,

I WILL,
My own logic will show me how.

How to buck up,
to deal with pain,
and to let it go like I used to,
To dance in the rain.

Dear lord,
I just say thank you for the chance,
Let me change my life for the better,
Grant me the strength,
to withstand the pain,
let me heal,
Give me the rest of my life to say thanks,
Give me one more Rain Dance.

Pirates from the sunken ship making it ashore on a dilapidated raft landed on the shoe of a reef that was home to a scurvy knave who’d once been master engineer to the Royal Navy until *** took over his thinking and he began to concoct schemes to overthrow the Crown.
Dismissed as an insane crackpot he’d been set adrift by his shipmates; coming upon the aerated cluster of marine life that was chock full of unusual and bizarre aquatic creatures and minerals; now dwelling this long among the coral creating living machines from the articulated pincers and shells of all but unknown gigantic crustaceans living on and around the reef.
Bringing liquor made them more than welcome as some of the pirates had survived clinging to a chestful of buoyant ***. The old Navy man running from his coral-thatched hut. Seeing the chest first of all he finessed the lock with a sharp fingernail tossing the chest open and guzzling down a bottle. “Ay man!” cried Captain Quick.
“I saw ‘em bring ya down,” the old mad man croaked.
“Was it a rocket?” asked the brawny woman coming up from the beach.
“Who the hell knows,” said the beachcomber.
The fierce and ***** Lizzie Quick had two gold teeth in front, one incisor on the right and one opposite front tooth outlined in gold. Her back teeth were ALL gold. So she was never without bandelier and pistols even when she slept, or ***** knaves would try to pry the gold right out of her head but now she carried a long knife at her side and a shorter rapier in her ruined kneehigh embroidered Spanish leather condorosa boots. Her red satin corset was embroidered with gold silk and her soaked hoop skirt were red and purple just because they could be. Normally light on her feet, soaked to the skin she felt as if she were wearing lead bloomers. Calling her serving ***** Esmeralda from the sand, the woman began arduously removing her mistress’ clothing layer by layer. The scavenging hermit helping himself to another bottle of ***.
“Ay man, I say, where we be?” tried Quick once again.
“You be on Wild Island, my island and ya best get off it. There’s no room for ya.”
“Ay man, you say you saw what happened out there did ya?”
“Sure did. That hole opened up and blew a **** I could smell from here. Couldn’t get away from it if I tried but it sent a blast of black **** through the air like a jet.”
“Like a what?” said the pirate.
“It’s a kind of rocket, short for ‘jettison’. I can do the same thing with a lobster. Launch it near into space.” Quick was convinced the isolated kook was completely out of his mind. The ruddy tattooed woman stripping completely naked with no inhibitions, her equally inked dark-skinned servant dutifully peeling the wet garments from the darkly freckled body.
Quick picking up a bottle drank it down and tossed it to the sand.
“Say, matey, this ain’t your home. Don’t be discardin’ your waste on me property.”
“Who be you old man?” said the stinking pirate even after a bath.
“They call me Savage but that’s just me name. I was somebody once, an engineer in the King’s Royal Navy. I put ships on the water. Built me own right here on this here island. But I ain’t got nowhere to go.”
“You say you have a ship?” said the Quicks together.
“Say old man, how would you like some choice *****?” broached Esmeralda.
The old man squinted, “What’s that matey? Pushups? I don’t do push-ups.”
“Cooch, me hardy. Me woman’s woman’s offering you some ******. Have at it eh?”
The old man sat down in the sand to think it over.
“I haven’t had a wooden leg on many a yarn. Are they still usin’ ‘em the same way?”
“Nothin’s changed a bit, my friend. That ship out there, it’s full of women, me hardy.”
The old man’s eyes finally widened brightly as he peered from beneath his shade hand. The Green Belle out at sea gliding smoothly across the waters her wake clear as crystal.
“There be women on that thar ship?” said the sailor. “I be needing a wife.”
“Then it’s settled. You help us take that ship and you’ll get the pick of the litter.”
“Deal!” said the lonely codger wagging the pirate’s hooked paw.
“Now how about that thar ship of yours?”
“It’s a mechanical ship. Does your band know anything about machinery? Moving parts and such?” queried the stranded relic.
“I can rig a mean mast, matey. Me whole crew’s expert at workin’ a ship no matter what size.”
“I don’t **** care about that, matey. My ship goes under the water.”
“It sinks?”
“No, *******. It moves under the water like a fish.”
Quick scrubbed his jaw and pondered, turning to his first mate.
“Mister Lance, can you make anything out of what he’s saying?”
“He seems to have a moving...er...no, sir. I haven’t a clue.”
“Okay, old man, you win!” shouted the pirate queen herself, dragging the man by the feet into the hut. He was fine with it because he was drunk and his limbs like rubber. She was done shortly, returning to the crew on the beach. “He’ll be needing a rest. In the meantime why don’t we think up a plan?”

There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object that he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him of the day, a part of the day
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.

Climbing trees became a part of this child,
And playing catch, splashing in puddles, racing bikes down the block,
And tormenting neighbor kids,
And the falling down and the scraping of knees
Became a part of this child.
Nap time, time outs, smelling thyme and rosemary and lavender,
Digging through the crisp verdant garden
All became a part of this child.
Boy Scouts, dinosaur hunting, star searching, pencil drawing,
Became a part of him.

His own parents,
Reading aloud, arranging play dates, preparing snacks,
Supplying toys only to be forgotten about
for a stick or perhaps a box.
Mother off working, leaving by dawn, returning for dinner
And father, strict, the warden, always teaching responsibility,
Both becoming part of this child.
Vacations and swimming and visiting the grandparent and getting spoiled
Going to the zoo and seeing so many terrifying and exciting creatures.
His parents, always feeding and inspiring imagination
Becoming a part of him.

Walking to middle school became a part of him.
Lockers, combinations, IDs, pungent locker rooms, the labyrinth of halls
crowded and loud
The anticipation for lunch, the sweet sound of the three o'clock bell
The flurry toward the doors all became a part of him.
Pushups and crunches and laps and blown whistles
Loving every moment of the cool fresh air
Newfound freedom, licenses, cars, jobs
This responsibility became a part of him.
Plucking, scratching, squeaking, struggling, playing
Sounds of an unproven orchestra growing together,
All became a part of this boy.

Surviving the first day freshman year
So small, so young, so innocent
Growing, maturing, learning, all became a part of him.
School dances and football games and musicals and stress
Cool clay carefully sculpted, melodic rhythms played in tune, rubber ***** quickly dodged
AP class after AP class, notebook after notebook filled meticulously
New friendships formed, old friendships strengthened.
All this became a part of this child.
These became a part of that child who went forth every day
And who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

Gone Gone Gone
Into The Great Beyond

I inhabit a different realm now

I went to chip golf *****
At my usual place

I chipped for a bit
Then drove over to a beautiful park nearby

I sat beneath the trees
A long dirt path behind me

Completely alone
A beautiful afternoon

As I walked down the hill
And saw a lizard doing pushups

It scurried behind a tree

As I found another spot in the grass
Underneath the shade of a tree

I read a chapter
From Bertrand Russel's
The Practice and Theory of Bolshevism
Entitled, Why Russian Communism Has Failed

It appeared as though the black mother and child
That I saw earlier had left

The familiar voices of children playing
On The playground to my right
Could be heard in the distance

American families
Enjoying their American dream

Far to my left a couple enjoys the afternoon
Lying together in the grass

I look above as the birds descend
Across the park
They ride the wind

Simply extending their wings
And gliding across the park
They land on a tree opposite of me

And there was the ice cream truck
Circling its way
Around the park

With the familiar tunes
Of childhood days gone by

Then I came home
She is still announcing
What food is in the fridge

"I can see"
I muttered

Doing everything I could
Not to scream in her face
She just repeats that over and over

And then I went to the nature park
I took pictures of the birds
A video of a lone rabbit too

These animals just do what they do

A woman asked me what was the easiest trail
As I took a picture of the cross
On the monastery gate
I told her the way

I waited until she returned
To see if she would tell me
If she enjoyed the hike

She walked by
Ah well

I no longer seek a companion
I am alone
Forever alone

Oh look
This is the classic
American Scene
A summer American Dream

This is an expensive neighborhood
Don't you know
And fancy cars line the street
In front of the large home in Sierra Madre

Everyone is chatting
This is Tao
I walk by

I wonder if they even realize
That our country hangs in the balance
That our very way of life
May soon end

Oh, they are content
Just to carry on as always
Most people are

Our country has been ruined
Ruined!

A debt we cannot pay

A Chinese, Russian, and U.N. takeover
Likely on its way

Weaponized weather, A grid attack,
Most definitely a total economic collapse

But these Americans just want to enjoy
Their barbecue
As they often do

And on my walk home
Four steps
Thud
Followed by four steps
Thud

And after I go to the gym
I will return
And they will hear the thud
Yes they will hear
As they try to sleep in their beds

Thud

Get ready, Get Ready
Your American dreams will
Soon have gone away

Foot shortages and economic collapse
On its way
U.N. vehicles are here to stay

My therapist told me that
"God never gives us more than we can handle"

She being thirty-six
Accomplished and having had every
Opportunity to succeed in life

Her last words
She uttered a "Take Care"

You know when she told me she was leaving
I cried a bit and composed myself

She said, "I know its a lot to process"
It would have been respectful to be silent
And not say anything
And in that moment
I learned more about her
She did not honor what was sacred

How could she have said that?
Meeting with her was important to me
Quiet, please!
Your words are unnecessary

I didn't say anything to her about that
And that's fine
I had hoped for something higher
A companionship

Blah
To her I was just another client
Another paycheck

I don't trust her
She left me and her other clients

She never said the savior's name
She never said Jesus' name
Just her "higher power"

She told me to email her
If I get a job

I will not ever contact you again

Why are people having kids?
Why the **** are they?
So they can grow up in a FEMA CAMP!

Terrible times are coming for her and for me

That expression
"God never gives us more than we can handle"
Who says that?

Tell that to those who have starved to death
To the German men who spend over a decade
In Russian labor camps

Americans will have a lot to handle soon
And your money
Won't save you

Neither will your **** looks
Or your car

I'll survive
That's all I know how to do

Is to survive
And to keep feeling emptiness
And that ******* therapist
Who left

It was enjoyable
To meet with her
It was consistent

She did not give me much notice

I am pure
I do not engage in ****** *******
Married couples they disgust me
Slamming their privates into each other
Lusting after each other

I do not want to shake another's hand anymore

I do not know
Where that filthy hand has been

******* therapists
I'll never see one again

Remember---They don't really care about you!
Remember!!!

They are there for the money only
And they will sit and lie
Right to your face

Remember to care for yourself
In this world
Trust in Jesus and yourself

On my hike
I greet others with a friendly hello

Perhaps one day
I will meet another friend

I have three I trust now

Until then I will walk the streets alone

The therapist
She left, she left
And she did not give much of a care

Bah
It wasn't her fault
I just shouldn't have allowed myself
To care about our meeting

Now I don't care
I don't work
I don't do anything

Except read
And walk
And listen to podcasts

Gone Gone Gone
Gone Into the Great Beyond

Thud
Can you hear me?

Form is emptiness
Emptiness is form

No pain no gain is an understatement

Pushups are a form of punishment

You respect your captains every single day

And trust your choreographer to lead the way

You leave the field sweating, makeup in your eyes

A fire burning in your heart... and in your thighs

Practice every day, dripping with sweat

That six-foot pole no longer a threat

Working hard to be the best

Every weekend is your test  

You gain new family and friends

With each other till the very end

Bonds that last all year

People to project all your fears

This is where you throw it all down

Because in the band, you're the crown

You make the show

And you need to know

To hold your head up high

And don't you dare be shy

Cause the countless hours you have spent

Can't be bought with any cent

Cause Denise's bleeding hands

And Beave's constant demands

Always changing

Always rearranging

Working hard to make the show great

Making sure to keep your posture straight

This. Is. Colorguard.

Which will always have a place in my heart

it rained the day after Christmas and

you said you’d prefer snow.
it reminded me of London

so I kept my mouth shut and pushed your hands
further between my legs.
“eat my pineapple,” I instructed
as the *** coated my tongue.
“carry me through

the tiki bar and do pushups in the empty
space while I brush my lips on your temple.”

we were married on the corner
of Queen and Dunn;
our officiant on one knee, clad in blue knit
I

never thought I’d be here.

across oceans you recessed
further into my insomniac brain.
your eyes are green, right?
turn around:

it’s less romantic if there’s no eye contact.
track our distance across my sternum --
I’ve never been to Azerbaijan.
I took advantage of the fact that you were wearing black
and forgot to outline my
shape in chalk.

I do a few pushups

Before you visit

I rummage for the good cologne

Dash some on wrist, neck

Crotch

I trim my hair

Sweep the floor

Swipe the gunk

Off sinks

Wash the dishes

Stuff all the junk

Socks, backpacks, ****

Into the closet

Rearrange my trinkets

Shelve the various books

Thrown all about

Lay out the good movies

Songs, covers

Ready at hand

Prep my mind

With witticisms and humor

Hang up strawberry

Car-fresheners

Buy wine

Out of my price range

Dim the lights

Scrape the crust

Dust off the shadows

For you

I dream

Here, re think the name that may not be spoken,
in light
of the curse brought
by knowing evil, and good, especially,
in this little light of mine, which I vowed, as a child
to not allow the accuser to quench,
AI nada gonna put it out.
My duty is to fight and **** to keep it bright.
I'll be a warrior under god.

But then the darkness of the pledge,
to the flag, {I am six-years old, *******, allegiance?} locked in,
duty bound... endure the contest, and laugh off the fear of dying.

- look out my window, watch that black lizard
- doing pushups, signaling in my peripheral vision
- listen, does it look like that lizard is showing off
- strutting its blue belly as hook-up bait?

Not t'me.
I think he's singing in lizard pitch my ears notice,
but my senses lack the filters to sing along,

lizard songs, no fear, no roadrunners or cats near,
and it is a fine day to be cold blooded,
running on the rocks,
running on the sun.
Singing lizard loud,
All that's done been done is done,
all that ain't, ain't
ain't it wonderful,
what may be?
Yep,
that is that lizard's song
as he run along, stopping every few feet to dance,
I swear, for sheer lizard level joy.

I told you, I don't want that kind of girl.
The way she bent the strobe- and the moonlight,
the way she kept telling me to shut up,
the way her heels acted like asterisks --
Marie, she ain't my kind of girl.

I told you, I'm just waiting for my head to clear.
I need fall to end the crow and vulture's flight.
I need to get unkempt and shut-in.
I need the pills to pull hat tricks --
Marie, I need a few more weeks.

I told you, my body's not ready.
I'd love to defend the howl and hiss of night.
I'd love split rent and shudder skin.
I'd love the pushups and matchsticks --
In the spring.

I promise, Marie.

You melt my stress like
The first hit
Or
A solid set of pushups
An honest act of altruism
Seen or completed
(One thing I am remarkably good at without even trying is
Being kind of big so
I’ve been pushing cars out all winter, you should try it)
You interrupt my thoughts
Even when I’m telling a story and
That’s impressive
Knowing me
I’m known to create soundscapes with the echoes in my dungeon mind
Lonely compositions
Full volume but drowned out by you
Sometimes I become completely detached
To any idea I’ve had or action I’ve committed
But you bombard me with the beauty of mistakes
And the merit of being proud
Catch me slithering into my hole
Stomp on my tail and drag me into the light
You make me transparent but
I love it
To the universe, I am murky
For you
I am clean

Are we 1,75m tall?
No, but we can do 10 pushups.

Do we get good grades?
No, but we try our best to learn.

Are spear ribs still our favourite food?
No, but we do eat.

Do we still play basketball?
No, but we do still swim.

Are we happy?
No, but we haven’t given up.

Do we still believe in humanity?
No, but we also haven’t lost hope.

Are we gonna cry right now?
No, but we will when you aren’t watching.

playing the ***** at a puppet cocktail party
couldn’t be an easier audience
but my check is still in the mail

saving a skinny woman with chest compressions
single-handedly so-to-speak
i wasn’t alone but i’ll take the credit
the others were weak, i was going heavy
and that’s when she came back

resurrecting my villain for the TV series Heroineburgh
an afternoon shoot with 3 young ladies in tight spandex
acting!

saving another woman with team compressions
went on for 60 minutes before her heart reignited
a christmas miracle
though i unplugged her 2 days later
continuous seizures

getting 3 of my 4 bands on one compilation
that and a quarter would give me a quarter

falling off my bike twice in 5 minutes
car ran a red light, then got doored in the bike lane
today was the first day my sprained wrist allowed pushups
(helps with those chest compressions)

making a money hat for the video i’m shooting for the Dumplings
they’re the Rolling Stones of my favorite bar

went to a hypnotist at the Fringe Fest
failing to get hyponotized
"you were obviously resisting," said my wife
i don’t know
i think i’m just obviously me

playing my ***** on a movie stage
for 8 second segments with the movie
don’t ask
we made $96 and bought tacos for $95

now i’m listening to my swinging new louis prima album
reflecting on this groovy month of spring

and now she'll just work harder.  sweat dripping from every pore, from every crease in her skin and every bend of her bones.  she will become what she has always wanted to be: strong.

her hair is becoming lighter.  one by one, the wavy hairs on her tanned head are being bleached by the sun.  her skin smells like memories of shores and of heat and of bathing suits.  she smells beautifully.  and as her skin tans her smile stretches across her face, beaming and bright.

her stomach is shrinking, her arms are muscular.  she finds new outlets for sadness and rage in pushups and squats.  she lifts weights for fun and does sit-ups to feel the burn of her life slipping away.

she needs new clothes, her old ones don't fit right.  or maybe they fit the way they were always supposed to.  she buys new shirts, new shorts.  she feels good about herself.

and then she breaks and her arms are weak and her legs won't move.  she scratches at her sides, long red marks across her too thick frame.  her thighs are fat and she knows it.  her hair is frizzy and she knows it.  her back is cracked and bent in half and she knows it.  

and now she'll just work harder.

Well, there.
I found it, shins
I found,
a huge place in the back of the head and locked in bed, maybe id
can only pinch with the residue residing
Swelling and spilling, the only true bad Smile.
The stem ringing and squealing
Swelling, kneeling
Afterwords, left and sizzle stigmad
Talk to your kids a lot. please!
Because handstand pushups only make
The thing competitive with no
Relatable taste
And movement from the vital stops
Which attracts the secret cops.
They're city veins.
Swollen, stolen.

They always say the same things -
the script and the show

“Let’s fall in love over a fancy dinner
and stories of travelling the seas.”
“Take control of my car stereo
play whatever you love.”
“I did three thousand pushups in three minutes, darling, feel my biceps.”

Same faces,
same words,
same places,
same stories.
Heard it all before.

But maybe -
if we’re able to cry all night
on the other’s shoulder,
for no reason,
or a hundred reasons.

If we can scream out
the moments we felt small
felt guilt,
felt shame,
felt fear,
felt agony.

If your long paragraph
meets mine
and we don’t flinch.
Just hold.
Just stay.

If we can dance,
inebriated,
with arms so entwined
we forget
whose hand is yours
and whose is mine.

If we lose track of time -
in silence,
in words,
in laughter.

Let love bloom
in a secret garden
of periwinkles and petunias
but also
in the mud,
the mould,
the stains of regret
and wishful thinking.
Let it exist
in nightmares
and dreamless nights.

Not perfect.
But present.
Something different.
Something more.

A real big mean *******
6'5 280 lbs
With a 6th grade education
He had a tattoo on
On the back of his shaved head
A big stab wound on his gut
He was shot 5 times
In the ***
He was brilliant
At credit card fraud
Only felt pride
For his gang
In and out of prison his whole life
Said life was more comfortable inside
I watched him put his feet on the kitchen counter
Hands on the floor
And do 100 pushups
I watched him with dying red eyes
High on speed
Peeking through filthy blinds
Every 3 minutes
While explaining how the
Man in the telephone company truck
Was really the CIA
He was arrested for ******
But the courts let him go
Due to a lack of evidence
He had 12 kids with 5 women
He was willing to fight anybody
Even women
Especially women
Made me drink a beer and
Showed me **** when I was 8
Showed me how to steal a car
With a flathead screwdriver
I hated big outlaw
He was a real mean *******
It's a real shame
That I have to see his face
Every time
I look at a mirror