Shark tooth necklace

Heavy showers most of the weekend. I was hoping for sun before the work week starts. Things have picked up there in the world of electrical supply. Ive been moved inside to the offices for most of the day , helping out with the counter when it gets busy or as needed. I don't mind writing up a few orders on the counter,the social interaction, listening to the customers , their stories. Selling. I have my own cubicle space inside, a direct phone line , a growing stack of vendor catalogs, business cards. I have a few contractor accounts already. Its different on the other side of things, before i was the one buying the supplies, now i sell them. And i have to say there is more fun and challenge in selling or getting materials people need then just ordering crap for a job you were the low bidder on , praying you stay in budget so maybe you might make some money. Screw that. Now they come to me for materials i know they need, all i have to do is give good service and decent prices and i get commission on top of that for just doing my job. Writing up orders. Getting myself fired from that other job was the best thing that could have ever happen.

The sun broke through in the Sunday afternoon. I drove to the beach bringing my dive mask, snorkel and fins. It had been so long since Ive been in the ocean i had almost forgotten how the salt feels on the skin, the briny smell , how it dries when you re in the sun and flakes off like table salt. It's peaceful swimming the surface looking into the shallows below. The colorful fish and coral reef , the pull of the tide, the gentle rock as you move forward kicking your feet as fins. I dive below to get a closer look , to become a part of the sea, my snorkel filling with water holding my breath. There is the silence where you can hear your heart beat. That you can look up from below while touching the sandy bottom, the sun surreal from this angle, fish swim by me curious to what i am and why i am here. Just to be somewhere else for a moment. heart beats and salt water. I make my up to the surface and clear the water from my snorkel.

the coconut and rum , sun tan oil and boiled shrimp. explorers and pirates made their way here to South Florida. Tomorrow ill be in a cubicle under fluorescent lights. But today the sun and the salt water drying on my lips.

 

End of Summer Squash

The end of the beginning: 

The end of summer? not even close when you live in South Florida. It's business as usual down in the tropics. Chlorinated swimming pools, the beach, playing Frisbee in the park with the dog. heat and more heat. i smell meat cooking on the grill and i don't eat meat anymore but i cant say i don't love the smell of lighter fluid and hot dogs and hamburgers. A rib-eye steak on a grill? oh yeah. 
Sure I'd like to see leaves change color. I'd like a three-some Halloween. I'd like you to invite me to your town for lunch. show me the books you read. play me of the music you like. show me the undies you wear. expose everything about yourself in short sentences. text me your life story, email me the easiest way you come.


Consider short distances. the drive to work.
the holiday.
the big move away
is only a short distance to
any single
hearts desire
her leap of faith is
only depth perception. words
in a box.

blood virus.
my bones on your bones.

short distances
I'm clicking your home
page

and reading your
scars


-Today is home-made red sauce, down on the chopping block we have two kinds of summer squash and sweet peppers which are sauteed in EVOO, garlic and red pepper flakes. The sauce goes in. Some time goes by......cook pasta as directed on side of package. Mix in with sauce. Serve. -

choking on salt water

water pools in the drive-way mixing with motor oil, black-top. a flow, a stream, a rainbow hurricanes into the drainage ditch. but it's not nearly fast enough. over-flow. small floods.memories, tide pools.
summer heat is followed by mid afternoon summer storms. reducing the mood to a purer state. i fold paper sail-boats looking out the window. stuck inside. we are always stuck inside for something, stuck inside because of rain or work or the oppressive humidity. stuck inside our own heads, thoughts of sweat and fuck and silence. It is that kind of summer holiday. the long sight lines, the emptiness, the building wind. I fall into myself. thunder-storms. the soft tap of rain against the window. i wish you were here.

when crush turns to like

A puff smoke of cloud floating against a  summer blue sky.  Power-lines, high wires crisscrossed . engagement. pavement. easement. houses. brick driveways. garage doors. opening and closing. I decided to take off work. I'm deciding if i should get in my truck and just drive. a bird  catches my eye in the back yard. I get a false sense of security there. fenced in. surrounded by ficus hedges. camouflage the coming and goings. the victories and heart aches.

Sitting by the pool. 3 books, i-pod, note- book, pen. Sun screen rubbed into the sleeve of ink covering my arm. all those hours. all the pain. art. life. worth it.
the sunscreen smells like coconuts. birds in a palm tree. coconuts. they are wild green parrots. noisy. random thoughts. i tear a page from my note-book and make a paper airplane. she's gone. I'm not sure who, or which one, i just know she is.

Film for the 35mm camera. I keep forgetting the thrift-store camera i bought. I'm anxious to try out all the different lens it came with. I borrowed a  book from the library - William Eggleston photography. i have it next to me. its heavy and reflected in the morning sun. inspiration. the mundane and ordinary find life. you just have to open your eyes. you just have to look.

I wanna do bad things to you

I'm in 3rd grade and the girl holding my hand, her name is Amy, she's in 8th. She volunteered from upper school with a group of other students. We are lined up along the wall, in the hallway as if being placed in front of a firing squad. Everyone from my class has to have their own "buddy” who will escort them to and from the school church. "Your buddy will meet you on every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning" instructs Sister Mary. The hallway is bright with sun. I have my left shoe off. im touching the cold white floor through a hole in my sock, my big toe pokes through. .. i bet if i ran i could slide 20 feet or more. i have the urge to run but don't. the older girls creep closer through the glowing white light. I can feel myself breathing. I feel the blood inside my skin - pulse.pulse.pulse.

I'm focusing my mental powers. I posses no true point of reference to what is or isn't pleasing to the eye. It is or isnt. im in 3rd grade everything is visual. everything is honest and heart-felt, mostly. Im attracted to peculiar details; a small gap between front teeth, a thin gold chain , a green hair barrette in the shape of a butterfly. The girls all wear the same school uniform; plaid skirt, white blouse, knee socks. I say a silent prayer. she is in front of me. Im lost in the shadow of her. she speaks, i mumble something to my feet. She tells me her name is Amy and takes my hand.

Sister Mary stays behind to grade papers. what i like best about her is she tells our class the most wonderful stories. stories of when she was younger, how difficult it was to become a nun, how she felt all she ever did was sin. she rubbed the beads of her rosary smooth over “thinking bad thoughts” and in repentance she once recited over two hundred Hail Marys in a single day! Her stories often ended with a deep sigh and watery eyes. I was taken in by her world, mesmerized by the rise and fall of sin - so much like mine.. so much like me

"bad thoughts". I wondered where she slept at night, if she ever drove a car, if she shopped for groceries, what was her favorite food and if she had ever listened to my favorite band KISS.

Amy loved the band Kiss. Peter Criss was her favorite because "he played drums like sex". I didnt know what "sex" meant, but is sounded like “bad thoughts” and that instantly excited me. what she asked me right before she took my hand was who my favorite band was. When i mumbled “Kiss.” She screamed "Rock and Roll all Night!!!! "

The church sat just west of the class room building. the sun stings my eyes walking toward cathedral ceilings and stained-glass glitter and shine. A somber Jesus- hangs above the altar, arms out-stretched as if saying "Why?" sometimes it looked more like " come let me give you a hug, you look like you could use one" It was both calming and scary at the same time and i liked this quite a bit.

Amy smelled of band-aids and strawberry shampoo, wore her hair in two braided hoops clipped with barrettes. when she spoke, I liked to look at the small space between her two front teeth.

It seemed like months but it was probably more like a few weeks. Three times a week, the short walk, holding her hand, answering questions she'd ask. Her laugh, her voice, her smile. She'd ask What was my favorite number? color? what girl did i think was prettiest in my class?

On Friday, it's hot, it will be summer vacation soon. no school. no nuns. no church. no Amy. We are walking back to class everyone is ahead of us. When we are alone she grabs me by the shoulders and grips me tight. she leans into my face and kisses me on my mouth. hard and wet and tasting like zebra stripe gum. She says it will be the last time she'd be able walk me, to see me, the school year was over for the 8th graders, two weeks earlier than lower grades. and then something about next year she'd be in another school and she really liked me, if i were older, when i get older..and I was thinking how I liked my mouth feeling so numb and bruised. she looked at me very serious and told me most times in life we never get a kiss goodbye, never even get to say goodbye. "People just"....she paused. "Leave" so this was a good thing but that i shouldn't tell anyone. She took my hand and it was true and true.

the boat was sinking

never liked much of the back break, okay. im a libra and a little lazy. I’ll start by telling you about his girl again. she knew how to keep herself busy at night but during the day all she ever wanted to do was.... sleep. despite this she’d call me in the morning, sleepy and hungover. she’d call me to say hello and break my heart. she’d call like i was her only friend, then call someone else who was her only friend. another guy who might come save her, who might invite her her over to visit the next town, the next state, the next distraction. she didnt have any intention on loving the one she was with. im not sure any of us have those good intentions for long. i mean, we do, but there are other things, other places, other dreams…...two people hardly fit inside there. from time to time shed come over and we’d fuck. we’d smoke cigarettes on my back porch. grill hamburgers, drink beers. it could be that simple, i guess, but it isnt. it could be that safe. it could be home.

I work, sun up, sun down. I drive past big square boxes with windows, i work in one, go home to one. I wonder like everyone else.....is there anything else? but maybe its because i wasnt looking long enough out the windows to see the flowers and trees, the flag pole. american? southern? i didnt take the time to breathe in the salt of the sea air, merely blocks away. I didnt mediate enough, read the right books, listen to the best songs. my taste in art and movies and blogs is suspect compared to the refined and low-brow hipster friends i associate with. i like young girls with old souls and older women with young hearts. I like pretty eyes more than a sunset. I like books that have previously been read, i like real books over touch pad reading. I dont like touching screens, media hype, multi-tasking, video games, car horns.


on a clear night above my house, you can see the stars. i never paid enough attention in school to learn the constellations. so ive made them up; pirate, horse, tits, big dipper, little dipper, circle, square, half ass cross-bow. the shiniest one i just call ....Star.

ive begun to notice things more. i write everything down. numbered like a list. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. I saw a bird today that had bright blue feathers and i meant to look it up on the internet when i got back home. i forgot and wrote this instead. i think its a blue-jay , some kind of blue bird. there isnt always space enough for the two of us. but mother- fuck im happy you're with me.

swimming with sea bears

sea bears like warm salty water and the sun. hibernation is in the summer - the opposite of winter bears. sometimes they sleep, sometimes they stay up all night writing tall tales: buried treasure, sharks teeth, pirate hookers. eating, drinking, fucking, swimming, writing, sleeping, crashing waves. Yeah. that's our thing.

all my days by the beach and ive only ever found one single shark tooth. I was about 9 and it was on the West Coat of Florida. not even in my own back-yard. I bent thin wire around it and tried wearing it as a necklace but it fell off and i lost it. I looked for more but only found shells and sea glass.

why not stay home all day and make art? why not be rich with the reward of gifts? i dream of one of those treasure finding things that you wave over the sand. going out on the beach in the early morning looking for lost treasure. I listen for beeps and high tones. gold, silver?. memories someone lost. I'd hang out until the sun was just above the ocean, ready to fall. pages torn from my notebook; a sea-side adventure tale that takes place in a sun worn motel. thieves and liars and whores. it would be mostly fiction. mostly.

Casually Smashed to Pieces

road journal in no particular order:

june of july when summer starts. It used to be when school ends - is summer. simple enough. now we pack bags and load the truck for camping or some disney world bullshit. stock up on explosives; fire- crackers, mortar shells, bottle rockets - the 4th. charcoal for the grill, bright red cooler stocked with bagged ice .

I like the road at medium distances. the great lakes and oceans blue. I like mile high cliffs and smokey mountains the peaks and valleys and her curves. anywhere. anywhere with you. I try to count the orange trees. they fly by in a hazy blur, im doing 85 or 88 mph. bugs hit the windshield with a Thump.Thump. Splat. Florida presents one the most boring of drive. flat awful roads; the occasional road kill. skies can open and pour down on you in a blink of an eye. torture you with black and grey and wet. Yes, there is lightning, more strikes than any state in the union. As suddenly blue skies, birds singing. all in all the surroundings near and far are not much for recalling. drink your fluids, check your gauge for overheating.

high noon mind numb with motion and vibration. It's not long before the sun drops off a western horizon. keep the radio playing loud, keep driving, keep taking mental notes. Are those mountains or clouds up ahead? Is that the ocean im driving into.. the abyss? tricks and illusions. Im not cut out for long distance. she kisses me awake with sugary redbull kisses. Im vaguely aware of She & Him playing from the tiny dashboard speakers- it seems to fit my mood now, fit this road and hour, twang and whisper and zooey eyes. I start to fade again. Half asleep I pull into a small motel, single level maybe 15 rooms. serene, half cozy half dirty. neon pink screaming Vacancy and cold a\c. In the dawns early light the office window is fogged with condensation. a glow creepy and inviting.

------------

The gas light has been on for the last 30 miles. So now I m pumping gallons of fuel into the tank. road weary with a slight Red Bull buzz. I like motels with window shaker a\c's units. the soothing hum and glow of vending machines that for 2 dollars can dispense me ice cold Mountain Dew. A motel that suffers through the off season months, through the hard times. like these. a motel so rightly fucked in and fucked up. Over chlorinated pool that burns my eyes and tingles my skin. A hard pillow and hard cock and two fingers in her mouth. scream. moan. It's okay. We ain't from around here and we aint never coming back.

june of july how wonderful to be alive and able to write this. running out of ink and out time. she calls for me to hurry it up, there's a nasty storm coming from the South. Get back in the truck, get back in and just drive. drive. drive.

She & Him - Thieves (BBC)

How come that blood

The sun hangs up there and it doesn't want to fall. days seem longer, they drag and wilt awaiting our kiss dizzy summer. I have trouble getting to sleep. my mood sharpens or fades depending on the music i play, the books i read, the photos my eyes show me. maybe it all depends on if she loves or not - misses me or not - or.. at all.

shadows appear on walls and familiar faces loving and lying and twice in between, not enough. I'm fixing us something to eat, I'm using a grill because where there's smoke there's fire. drinking wine and waiting for midnight as if something will change. but, no pumpkin, no white horse, no death. not yet.

i think of how much I'm hating the word "sustainable" lately.

I breath in ,,,, one, two, three, and out............ four, five, six.

driving home past road kill and garbage trucks. idling slow at red lights next to pretty girls on cell phones text fucking their lovers. I care about the earth and our sustainability. I do. I drink water from taps, I apply even pressure to cuts and scraps. I kiss bruises. I just don't use the word "sustainable" as it applies to food or textiles or the rubber garden hose coiled up like a snake.

a failure at being friends not lovers

the kiss was my victory party. a ring and a cake. a birthday and a wish.
i sent the letter with a bolt of lightning - with thunder, with a hurricane.
puddles left in my driveway remind me of the day i spent over your house. the day the power went out and everything got quiet. we laid on your bed staring at the ceiling holding each others hand. we had just fucked. we had just lied. we had said we wouldn't but we would do it all over again.
then, there was just breathing. and instead of being still I
told you secrets.

little things - said.
left unsaid.
the months and years of words piling up and
left unread.

maybe this once had a heart beat? and
maybe it's not worth thinking about.
the summer swallows us up.
the goodbyes hurt like hell.

photo:Hakumansfriend -flickr

and everyone came over to watch me light the fuse

sit around a lot of the time. wait for summer. it comes and then it's the same. it goes and then its the same. probably thinking whats next- whats next?. waste my time.

come waste my time and let's fuck like we used to and if we can't like we used to then how about we like now.

now is all we have and if its with me or him or her the difference is slightly to the left of the moon. where you are. where i am.

we just happen to be stuck in the place between. the silence.

i don't know why it ends up like this. short choppy sentences. no structure. kind of like us. kind of like me. or the story of us or of me. the one i wrote with you in it. the one I'm writing now. and you are gone.
here. gone. here.

it wouldn't be much different but lets pretend it would. lets pretend we wouldnt get along. that we are strangers. you don't tend to make me angry. Ive learned something. I've changed and things are just splendid.

i don't even eat the same foods. i don't even have the same job or the same hair cut. things change. when they do - it' s now. no use thinking about tomorrow. when tomorrow comes it will be now.

love me like now. at least say you do. at least say you'd meet me somewhere. I want to get in my car and turn toward your direction. I want to light up the tires and light up the night. fireworks.

it's because of the fireworks. it's because of you.

July. we waited so long for summer. it comes and it's the same, it goes. what's next? who cares.

it's now.

I don't know how to dance but i can make it rain

it rained again. i think it will all summer. I remember one summer, off from school it rained almost everyday. I stayed inside and cut photos from magazines, I read books. I sat at my desk next to the bed and wrote you all those fucking letters. I looked outside my window. I could see the girl next door, the girl with glasses. I could see her through her bedroom window. She was writing something too.

it rained and so I drew a picture of swollen sun with yellow magic marker. I drew birds and power lines, a road to anywhere. anywhere outside. anywhere with you.


she would call me on the phone from time to time. breaking the silence. breaking the sound of rain drops and thunder. the long silence. she was my drug and she knew my number then, by heart.
did you ever know my number by heart? am i still there. I wonder if I am still there. in your heart?.

I wanted you to forget me. I wanted to forget that rainy summer. I wanted and wanted and that's a terrible thing.

now i want nothing. now i have everything. now it rains and it doesn't hurt so bad. I know i am in your heart, down deep, but there. always there.
i have everything.

tell me how I say the things that make you sway

at the grocery store. we place food items into a plastic push cart. she steers the buggy, I look at the floor. to many people, to many lights, to much advertising. the smell of baked goods, spiced meats, and loaves of french crusted bread. a lady asks if we'd like to try a free sample. My fingers brush against the brightly colored fruit as we walk by.

I'm an impulse shopper and kisser and hands on her ass, feel her up-er. she'll tell you that, just ask her.

there was my attempt on aisle 7 to explain how a certain wine compliments a certain
dish, that i would make it for us. I would teach her how to sniff, taste and swallow.
I could tell she thought this to be sweet, silly, slightly dirty.
heart breaking. she said.
you're simply heart breaking.

i was pointing at bottle neck clams through the seafood window glass.
when you pick out clams. I say. you want to make sure the shells are closed, never buy open clams.... and now shellfish, okay. listen baby, this is important. ANY shellfish: shrimp, crabs, scallops, you want to make sure the guy gives you them frozen from the freezer in back. they are better frozen and thawed at home.
and what about those, she says. pointing to a group of lobsters crawling at the bottom of salt water tank.
We don't buy those. I say. We consider the lobster.

I'm checking the fresh caught fish of the day and i see her face reflecting in the glass, smiling. i notice she's staring at me when she thinks im not looking back. I can't keep my own gaze from off her, or my hands, or my heart. I fall for those moments, even with almost certain lies hanging from her lips. I turn and kiss and taste them right there in front of everyone. a light applause from a few of the older ladies, who happen by. As if id made some grand proposal and she said yes. It was only that she had captured me. trapped now like the lobsters crawling up the sides of the tank. tap-tap-tap-tap

sand and ice

I open the plastic bottle, add Crystal Light mix to my water. lemonade. it's hard to swallow otherwise. just the water. just the water alone. closing the lid i shake the bottle like a snow-globe. tiny crystals dissolve and like magic I've changed it's chemistry.

I have this thing where i have to add noise to silence. nothing stays still to long. I sprinkle lust on boring situations, and longing, and panic and loathing. words.
dirty chaos, filthy regrets, radio chatter, clicking of keyboard, t.v sounds, a truck drives by, the squeal of brakes. a dog bark.

i haven't sit still for as long as i can remember. sand and ice and summer. what i can't remember i make up and what i make up become stories i tell to her in bed. lies are things we tell children, not each other. what we tell each other is what we believe is best not to hurt them. the truth is ugly and in most cases, I'm not much for it. some things remain true: how i miss it. how Ive never regretted us for one moment. how ill tell myself anything to make it through another evening, another summer, another winter, the silence.

in being still, i came close with her. but, only right after sex. most times after, id want to just leave whoever i was with. thank you, but i have to go now. let me exit without a fight. not make a big thing of it.

It was different with her. she's up to pee, sweaty and dizzy, then she is back holding an ice-tea. shit like that, instantly breaks my heart.

i'd not move, as close to still as id ever come. she'd place the tea on the night table. barely hearing the ice cubes clatter. she crawls over me and lays her head on my chest.
your heart, it's still beating fast.
it is now - this is what you do to me.
I close my eyes. she's ready to play again, her hand is there.
heart beat. faster. I'm up for it. for anything.
still.

i declare a cease fire

the temperature has dropped below eight-five, so my windows are open, and there's a breeze carrying in the smells of molasses, oranges, mesquite, papayas, rum, powdered sugar, arroz con pollo, newspapers, dogs, road tar, cigars, garbage, perfumed women, babies, lumber, paella, sex, car exhaust, chlorine, mint, horses, manure, coffee, lime, gardenias, seafood, Tabasco, stone crab, prostitutes, lemonade, barbecue, pianos, sweat, the ocean, bananas.

canoe, moon, ukelele

1. she's gone-

she'd been swimming, the smell of chlorine in her hair. our mouths sore from kissing to hard, to much and never long enough. bright skies, rose colored cheeks. spiky shadows cast from trees. we carved out our initials into a sideways heart not to far away from her back-yard. I bet it's still there. teen aged scrawl: CB + SL. it will take the devil to replace her.

we swam in her pool at night. her mother worked the late shift at a local nudie bar. serving, dancing- something. on her nights off she'd do things for us like: make drinks in the blender, offer to smoke us out, read our horoscopes under the night sky.

2. destiny -

it's safe under the water, no sound. no drama. the sudden urge to scream.


3. the mistake -

Fuck. I'm caught in jelly fish tentacles. I finally get my older sister and her friend to take me to the beach and now this. stinging fire sticking to my skin. the more i try to move, the more i attempt to free myself, the worse it is. I guess I'll just die here.
It's a pretty enough day outside. I can see it all-I've floated toward the sandy bottom looking up into the sparkling sun. I'm not far from shore but still; have you ever felt a million bee stings all at once, except under the water? that's me.

that's me until she pulled me out, my sisters best friend. colored finger nails grabbing me by the wrist. just when i was getting used to the idea of drowning. the pain like needles shooting through my back and arms. strands of jelly in a tangled mess.
I should have been thinking save me, but all i could see - two wonderful giant breasts. cleavage magnified by sea water and sunbeams. maybe i am dead.
I can see it now- life guards rushing to assist me;
" we need to treat these jelly-fish stings right away"
"but sir, what do we do about his boner?"

gasping for air and fully focused on her chest. A bright red string bikini, i am alive. she stands me up and we are in maybe 3' of shallow water. while she's brushing the "tentacles" off my shoulder.
im frantic "giantboobiessImeanstingggstungbyjjjjjjellyfisshh shsh"
"relax, doofus- it's seaweed."

we start with fuck and end with Kiss

let's start it like this. the fuck with kisses.
and do remember us?
our torturous history filled with goodbyes and returns. me missing the sex and her the love.
my friends think her to young for me although they all secretly covet her.


both hands on the wheel. her driving is slow and steady. mine is fast and all over the road. Still as if teaching me a lesson, we end up stopped at the same red light. side by side, her windows open. Rick Astley's, Never Gonna Give You Up is blasting from the speakers. she is either cool enough not to care or popular enough to have never had to spend the lonely hours i have on the internet. is it possible the unintentional viral plague inflicted by this artist has eluded her? before i could yell over to ask, the light changes. she adjusts the giant bug like sunglasses on her face, flicks her cigarette out the top of her sun roof and drives off.


there was a time when i thought, all i needed was a pretty girl and a bag of Fun-yuns and i'd be be happy. Add to that a 12 pack of PBR and a dog and it would lead you right up to my current happiness needs.

My girl can't stand the smell of Fun-yuns- she'd liked me to eat them out on the porch and if she held that kind of power i might do it. she doesn't, so i eat them right next to her on the couch while we watch the weekly episode of The Office. She'll kiss me if she eats them too, but she likes salt and vinegar chips and I must tell you, it's quite a mix. intoxicating.

I can't shake the fond memories of Elementry school Fun-yuns bring back. My mother packing them tight in a zip-lock sandwich bag, my metal Planet of the Apes lunch box busting at the rivets with items like: Two PB&J sammies, oreos, a jolly-rancher candy and the obligatory fruit, which i would promptly discard. I was given a quarter daily to purchase a 2% Homo milk, but I always got chocolate milk instead. One, it didn't have 2% Homo written across it in bright red lettering, and two, it was fucking delicious.
I was never entirely sure why but the black kids drank the 2% white milk. No one ever called them HOMO either, even though that's exactly what it read on the little carton box. God forbid you were white and they ran out of chocolate. (which often happen) The entire lunch room lit up with chants - homo!-homo!-homo!- the black kids even joined in as if they werent drinking the same stuff. In fact i think it was my friend Roger who started the chant.
Funyons had a hole, i like holes, you could play ring toss or peer through them and creep out the girls lunch table. they were just that fun. Bugels had a charm to them too, you could place them on all your fingers and wiggle them like pointed witch fingers.

Funyons remind me as much about Elementary school as the saw dust the janitor shook out on throw-up or the pee girl who sat next to me on the bus. bus fumes and Elmer's glue, eraser tops, the velcro rip of a Trapper Keeper notebook. single file. heads down. The hottest band in the world- Kiss.
when does summer start?

make me your bruise

I told you to wait until after the rain stopped and then let's meet in the back- yard. we took off our shoes so that we could feel the wet grass under our feet. i took your hand and you thought looking back now, this is bittersweet, sad, this is like some kind of dark poetry in a pale blue light. make me your bruise, a sigh in a warm rain, bleeding. It's bullshit. It's bad fiction.

the fact that we had to wait at all or that i could ever wait. that once could ever be enough. that i would forget any of this. we rode our bikes in the rain, it was warm as blood and everything seemed rusted. the rains come and then the storms. this is our snow: thunder, leaves falling, a break in the sky, summer down pours and lightning.

I told you if it ever got to hard. I told you to tell me your secrets and if it was hurting bad enough I would take you away. I could make you safe from them.

your bike was pink with white streamers and mine was green. banana seat, chrome sissy bar, playing cards between the spokes held in place by clothes pins. Jokers and and aces wild, the Queen of hearts for you, your favorite and the king of diamonds, mine. Our tires rubbed and bumped when we got to close to each other, racket from the cards coming down the street like engines, like machine gun fire. Your hair wet and stringy in your face like spilled ink.


where was it that you showed me your bruises? was it in the woods , was it at your house in your room?. Why was no one ever home? and tell me again where he touches you at night.
we laid down in the bathtub together when the storm came in. I was caught over your house and couldn't get home. the phone didn't work, no t.v. We thought the roof would come off, we thought the walls would cave in. Or was it that you wanted close to me?

I got in first, cold white porcelain touching my back through shirt and then you on top. The thunder made you scared and edgy. your shoulders were small, bony and then i saw the bruises. you shifted your weight, like a whisper and said it would feel better if you moved like this and it did. lighting. crash of thunder. An ACDC song in my head. closer now and the wind, and my promise.

show me where the gun is. I'll do it. So he'll never hurt you again. she only heard the rain hitting the tin roof of the old shed out back.drowning my hearts desire. Bang- bang- bang- bang. she found the spot where shadows hide inside of me. she pressed herself into it, moving, faster and then faster. slow and then slower. a sigh, the warm rain bleeding. she was crying. weeping softly i thought. but now I'm not so sure.

what if.......

At summers end:
The wedding i attended, the dinner, the dance, summer, fucking september. the cake was fine. the cake it's smashed all over her face. but fine. happy. i kept hearing that word.
Happy.
all smiles and glasses tipped back. I drank wine.
There was a girl who wanted to dance with me. She had tattoos and a red ruby ring.
the bride she held out a silk bag for money gifts. i slipped in my money, my complaints, a cigarette butt and advice.
I could see the moon from the window. traces of lip-gloss glitter on my shirt.
the glimmer and shine like stars.
I try holding these moments and not letting them slip away. Not letting her slip away.
but things change, they end, they begin
and back again
my glass is empty
open bar
full again. this is life and love
and you have to have been in love
to write poetry.
so I write words down on a paper napkin and
hand it to ruby ring girl. a smile. her hand on the back of my arm.
the bride is months away from having the baby
this time me
the one who
slips away


Fall: We come here to visit each other and tell each other lies. or maybe it's them we tell the lies to. maybe things we write seem more believable than what we speak. Maybe I can write that I let you visit and you did. Or maybe you can say you've seen my bed or pet my dog.
You told me that i was your one true love.
I'll make you feel good if you do me. it's not much different than before. telling you that you're pretty, adding bear to the end of your first name.

When she'd come over and stay up late. Curled up on the couch writing in her notebook in black ink. We had this kind of sad-love soundtrack always playing in the background. This sort of waiting around for our big crash and burn. She'd bite the cap of the pen, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. The soundtrack. It was so obvious. so obvious. She'd come over and she'd say that she'd stay forever. fall asleep holding me, after we fucked. once she woke me up sucking my dick. She never wrote that down. I didn't either. since when are secrets stories? that's what she'd tell me.

she signs her name with my last name.
that makes her more mine than yours.
If you find me I'm yours in a heart beat.
the illusion of our lonely is
now,
an us and a we.
my heart, god willing
it will stop beating before hers.
she is much younger than I.
and days passing
we visit each other
my world
Alive.
because of you.

photo credits:
Aytnena
the selby
m0thyyku
heliumglow

An Orchestrated Rise to Fall

The trust me fund:
She's getting married next weekend, It's what they would call all-of-a-sudden. The bride, she's only 18 and it's her first. first husband, first wedding, first cake, first ring, first everything.

" ... and Yes, she's pregnant", that's what I hear her mother telling people over the phone. Her mother is the secretary for my company and that's how i know all these things. She had two weeks to pull it all together. I'm told it's supposed to look and feel like a big deal wedding since the father of the child and husband to-be has a 2 million dollar trust fund waiting when he turns 35. Impress his family sort of thing.

Wait. He's almost 30, she's 18. You're thinking this isn't going to work out. You're thinking child-bride and who is holding the shot-gun. And I think you know.
The old me would say one word to him: Run.
I'm trying to be more positive these days. plus, you should know I'm rooting for the kid and her unborn. Starving artist boys with trust funds, I guess they get what they deserve.



One night to speed up truth:
I'm invited to the wedding extravaganza and I can't say I've ever turned down an offer to attend a wedding. (nor to be wed) I'm such a foolish romantic at heart. Will there be wine? food, music, cake? Yes, yes, yes and yes. Then yes.
Of the marriages I've attended it's about 50- 50 the couples have remained married.
true fact.
I must also mention that this whole thing is taking place on Sunday. Opening day of football season Sunday. Priorites. How dare them, I know. So, I'll have to Tivo/Dvr the game.
You're thinking Christian, miss his Dallas Cowboys game live!!!? okay maybe your not thinking that. but I am.
Oh, but that bitter taste they left in my mouth. They shouldn't have broken my heart like they did last year in the playoffs. They're like that slice of cake that falls on the floor, it still looks all good and sugary but, it fell on the floor. You think it might be okay. You pick it up, wipe it off, check to see if any ones looking and take a big bite. It could be the most delicious cake you've ever had. That something you've been waiting for all your life. Or it could have dirt on it and you wish you could just spit out. instead you know you'll just choke on it. So, The safe bet is not to get all worked up. Save yourself the broken heart and leave the cake on the floor for someone else to take a chance on. In other words.... record it - Then see how it all turns out later.


I wonder when it's winter am I going to wish for it to be summer again?

credits:

ohgirl