Tuesday, February 23, 2010

this is how it used to glow

a pink house next to a yellow house, next to pale blue. it's South Florida. I drive past Spanish, key west, ginger bread style casa's. pink flamingos and invisible fences, little dogs that play on dry lawns while shiny cars sit in the drive ways.

a pink house next to a sun yellow with swamp green trim. I drive past road kill iguana, road kill raccoon. I've counted six in the last two weeks. it's the half moon crazy fuckers fueled up on red bull and orange juice. It's the black top and salted earth lit by headlights and tourists drowsy from the sun. they come down from where it's cold, from some place else. sometimes i think that's where I'm from. not the cold. just some place else. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, ... pastel houses and road kill.

I think it's the heat that makes everyone so crazy, makes the women so kinky down here. fisting, spanking, spitting. been there done that. fist fights and bottle rockets. the days are slow and the nights dance with the glimming hope and fear of anything better. But is there?

It's funny, i remember those nights meeting up in some dingy motel room, pulling at each other clothes with the longing you only have with strangers - when the only parts that matter are the ones you fuck with. freshly shaved down, if i thought about it, it's almost comical. who the fuck were we kidding? tattoos, sweat, and empty promises. sometimes, I still think i own a piece of it. If i call her name that girl can probably still hear me. she'd have to, anyone fucks you like that..they own you. now, you see what i mean about the heat?

The girls down here... smile often. they sleep to the right side of the bed, they drink bottled water, green soda, and blood.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Don't this look like dark

cold again. good for bears, hiking, and chopping wood. good for blankets and fucking and breathing you in. a good winter for ultra-sonic wave lengths, geometry books and glimmering jeweled eyes.

she teased me with her small haunting, with small offerings. i see shadows, i hear voices now. she used me when she needed to feel good. it's okay, it fits me too. she's a risk, something from the past. I don't want anything new. old lovers fall easily into bed, easily into arms and sleep and words like forever and always. words like i miss you and good bye.

She says we are always close, I'll always be the one, but it's not true. I wont touch her again. In certain moments we might miss each other. late at night i might whisper your name, i might smile and hold back words. It doesn't mean i won't feel you again. we dug our holes with golden rings and shovels. distance, cruel as all snow and rain and diamonds.

Ive gotten into this thing where i look up a new word for the day. Today, it's apotheosis. I look out the window and repeat it to myself the word and its meaning. I use it in three different sentences. I like the word. a word lavish with sunlight, with the gods gladsome songs. the golden power of the sun.

we once ate fruit and discussed Mexico. She seemed serious about going. she wanted to live in a house that jutted out over a high crag, a house with gardens inside and out. We'd grow our own food, make love whenever we wanted, and read the lives of saints to each other through the terrifying night.

Monday, February 1, 2010

in a cabin with you

my god
her elegance,
like olden days
curled hair
and apron strings
my gods,
the wars she must
cause not knowing it

if i were king
Id have his head
and make her mine
force her to take
my name
wear my paper

if i were not
this gentle soul
full with words
and vulgar poetry

both to hurt
and kiss you with