We exchanged CDs

she kissed me
while the other women
were in the kitchen

on top of my lap
twice
before they re-entered

knock knock

Justin knocked
the first two times
we made out

she liked sex
in bathrooms
and public places

she was mad
at parents
who gave her everything

it was easy
but restrained
like short sharp breathing

my secret
my secret
my secret

is mostly
me

Mid-life blah blah

this year is tough like
all years
stiffer than most
maybe that's just 39
year old joints

who knows
who cares

you still have your
hair and a sense
of doom eclipsed
by nine after noon
when shadows and
the moon hedge bets

your head is wedged
in dreams
and in your room
you sit alone

and the doctor says
it's part of the illness
isolation comfort

amid row upon
row
of exes and bottles

like stones for drowning

but laugh
and the world
stares and wonders
where your brains have gone

for all your bravery you were just delaying
recognizing your life
as dust and bones

while waiting to buy a fast car
for fleeing faster
home

be my catcher in the rye?

cliff dancing
youngest child
expects a reprieve.

Late night, purple toothed

I read way more than talk to people

she said you talk like a novel
mind if I steal a few lines

bottle number three
purple teeth clang purple teeth

her serious eyes and curious hand
nail me

and all I can think of is a song

No one wants a diagnosis

the list contains things like

OTC/RX drugs?
misery?
joy?
drinking?
street drugs?

the downfalls and needs of your character
on a generic form. 

 

there it is.

 

pause.

life keeps me humble with highs

and lows.

Kitchen sinking drama

I told her that I wanted to live apart,
that way the loneliness that is like a lover,

close to my heart and ever present,

won't come between us.

she sadly reflected, eyes downward,
silently determined to change this.

swirling about us are the remains of promises
we each broke against the others face.

all those good devious intentions,

all for naught.



stones skip across water;
all fall.

Fingers feeling for fantasy

all these quiet years
the back pain reminds him

she thinks it funny and knows it's real
fingers feeling for fantasies

obscene she whispers
reeling from his lips and hers

crashing Saturday afternoons
ridiculous