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.

and all her words, wishful thinking

I'm not sure how long i can keep this up with you.
before long i tend to grow tired of these games- of these words. not so much in
the meaning of them,
but to me, it is to burn burn burn bright with cause-
of concern,
to distract from our everyday without
invisible
force keeping your body
your heart
your mind
your love
from
me

is it not,
that same force, those chemicals and
words, pixels and syntax,
those careless fucking whispers
that make you mine.

isn't the life we have not
grand? not scary? not dangerous?
no matter how stable we think our footing.
and tell me why couldn't it be better
just to give me your extra time???
to be my muse
to sit for me,
to confuse
to destroy
to undress

spread before me on top of dirty sheets
in the dim light of a sea-side
motel room
or in your room
or in your mind

and so that we never grow tired,
let me sink my teeth!
give to me the sum of your extra parts.

if this is your wish, let me be not your only- for i do not ask this of you. only that i am your favorite.
and if i tell you how it pleases me, that it also pleases you.

as far as i know,
there is nothing
to keep this from happening.
or ever
having
to end.

art: Tara Mcpherson
Dino Alberto

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?