Thursday, September 23, 2010

Marriage is the new going steady

your heart wont always be broken
and it wont always
explosions, cracks,
there will be

but there is glue
and stitches
and band-aids
and from time to time
shit like
words will heal
you -
a kiss will
hold you

the first time you
the first time
i breathed
the first time it ever felt
the body we buried
the secrets we
the drowning we witnessed
at sea

how we laughed at the
thought of a
never after

the boat was

how we never
looked back

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Stars in the Ceiling

she's getting her hair-cut. I hate passing the time…hate waiting. Im not good at it. nothing good comes of it - car crashes, drug deals, craigs-list, bank robberies, fast food, road trips, bad vibes, internet re-connections, a strangers touch. it always looks like im doing something bad but im not, its just passing the time, doing what you want me to do - to wait. this is how most of us wait.

Im restless, my head hurts, there are out-of-date magazines displayed on a table in the area meant for waiting. I sit on a hip mid-century reproduction sofa, it instantly makes my back hurt. everything in this place has a junk yard future. the bottles of chemicals, the furniture, the lights, the silly ass speakers painted black to match the ceiling and seemingly every stylists wardrobe, in here. but, we all look good in black. even me.

there is coffee free for the taking. coffee, magazines, uncomfortable chairs. these things seem to go hand and hand with waiting. the doctors office, emergency rooms, getting the oil changed in your car.waiting areas. mind numbing silence, hopelessness mixed with sweat and the breath of anti-depression medication. Magazines and coffee while waiting at the airport are not free, but its available and its mostly what people choose to do, even when mixed drinks, beer and warm cookies are totally an option.

Its morning, did i tell you that? im hungry thats probably why my head is hurting. I didnt eat breakfast. i didnt sleep very well either. Its morning but techno music is blasting from the ceiling speakers. I stare at sugar crystals someone spilled on the floor. someone should wipe the counter, sweep the floor. Isn’t someone always sweeping the floor in a hair-salon? i like when the shampoo girl massages my head. why cant i just get that? i almost drift to sleep, maybe i did.

i dont feel right. i havent been feeling right. Im here, waiting - I'm along for the ride. im outside myself looking-in. presence is poison and all i know is to retreat from it.
a women with smokey eye shadow walks over from behind a large greeting counter.
she asks if im okay. “im reading this magazine”, i shake it forcefully in-front of my face.
okay, but …
“It’s okay, Im waiting for her”
She looks in the general direction im looking for what seems like a long time, shrugs and walks away. No one comes to sweep.

I leaf through a Food And Wine magazine, there is a recipe for a spicy Sicilian sauce, i tear the page out- quickly fold it and place it in my front pocket. then, an article listing the Best Rustic Retreats to visit on a budget, I take that page too. Palo Duro Canyon State Park in Canyon,Texas or Devil's Den State Park in Arkansas are the most appealing. I have to remember to tell her later. this is where we should go, this is something we might like to do. pack the truck, take the dogs. rough it. she likes it rough.

lady in black comes back and asks if im okay. Of course im Okay.
"would you like a hair-cut" she asks. "you'd look good with your hair cut... hmmmmm, shorter- brushed to the front"
I say.. "like everyone else?" and then i stand up and tell her to let's cut my hair.

Im staring at the ceiling, resting back over the shampoo tank or bowl or sink, whatever it is....she sprays my head, testing the temperature of the water. " is okay?" I shut my eyes. shampoo smell, she begins rubbing, massaging. there are stars on the ceiling. I could fall asleep.
"who do you wait for? I see nothing"
I am shaken awake by what i perceive as an eastern block accent i hadn’t previously noticed. She has root-beer colored eyes, sprinkled with green. her voice is like someone you know or want to know. ” you say you wait?”
I am in front of a mirror sitting at the witches station and she is behind me with her snake eyes and scissors. I gaze into the mirror, slick wet pieces of black hair fall and stick to the cold white floor. the opposite of snow fall snip. snip. snip.

the reflection is me, but not me. It’s never really me. I look around the salon and it is empty beyond the low growl of techno beats. The witch and I, the witch and I and sugar granules spilled on the floor. snip.snip. Boom-Thump- hump- Boom. snip. snip.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Where I Lay, I'll Lie

these honey
bunches of words
these scratch marks
down my back
this hit
sting of bees

as we lie
as we
on this bed
on the ceiling

we say these certain phrases
in the heat of
stolen moments
it goes down easy
on sweaty sheets
all dirty words and

but, i wonder without
these kiss fits
and fist stings
i wonder without
the honey,
could we ?

without the brutal
fuck force
we never meant to