my writing class is above the pharmacy.
an old elevator
still rising
when the doors open.

nothing poetic happened to me today
so why am i here

ive never been
to this part of town
before.

second thought
ive never even been
to this town
before.

then why
does it feel
so ******* familiar

why do i remember
getting drunk in
that bar
chipping my teeth on
that curb.

i think the parts of me
that don't like me
stay here.
calling out for skin.
im freezing out here.

i havent been
warm in so
long

the dread i feel
from valiant effort
to a broken railroad.
an endless love
sent down the stream.
it sails.
i watch from the peer
but pretend not to see.

i feel schumann in
the mirror.
we let the same notes
push us off the cliff.

watch me stumble into
something nice.
the sweater i bought
at the thrift store
turned out to be worth
a little more
than the price
i paid.

chalk it up
in the win column
i say as i
slip it on
wondering
praying
dreaming
of whoever wore
it before me.

just hoping they lived
a life
full
of life
and maybe if i
never wash
some life might
rub off on me

a tin sky
my love
dances
around
a garden

my eyes
roll
into
my skull

i wear my nice sweater
for the performance.
but i still put on the makeup
the wig
the shoes.
never let anyone
decide when im ready
even me.

i danced for my supper.
and ate it with the fork
from the road that divides me.

two tall blondes
brought me flowers
we took pictures.
i left the roses at the show

two men
outside a starbucks
chainsmoking through
a saturday lunch

the sun is up
melting the snow at my feet
i wait for a bus that never comes