He lost half of his right arm in a gun fight, he told me once. whats left of a tattoo of a mermaid on the blown off arm now leaks into the folded skin, looking like a sea monster instead.
i felt two types of sadness:
one that filled me. and one that emptied me.
tomorrow’s coming.
we got so high i couldn’t feel my toes. the bed sheets felt like little waves tumbling over my feet as i moved my legs in a fashion similar to riding a bike. i laughed so hard i thought my nose was going to bleed. or fall off.
we had just about seven cups of tea, my veins bubbling and bursting with sugar. the window to my right always kept slightly cracked, so his cigarette smoke wouldn’t feel trapped, it could roam.
the guitar missing a few strings sat so sadly at the foot of the bed. i remember wanting to cradle it in my arms, but my hands were busy with a bowl. he, overall, was only good at flipping the record and kissing my neck in such a way i’d tingle through every cell beaming in my body.
and he could never sit still, his body always a restless mountain of bones. the weed danced around his bloodstream so often it became another set of plumbing within him. i thought he was beautiful. when he smoked the last of the weed, i remember wanting nothing more than to be buried in his bed, forever.
it was only a matter of time until you’d leave, you left.
i was only
i was only hoping you’d stay here.
you only have a few freckles, they remind me of poppy seeds that tumble off a bagel. i begin to count them, almost every time you lay your head down next to me, but the numbers slip away as the Netflix bar loads and i want to tell you how much, how very very much, meeting you has meant to me, but i am quiet.
i don’t want to be left.
everything about the weather makes me miss you, only sometimes. the pollen looks like a Jackson pollock painting splattered across the pavement. art work. similar to a bloody nose from a punch given and received under a nervous, shaky light bulb. (it needs to be replaced. you need to be replaced. i have been replaced.)
you snort cocaine like you tie your shoes - with patience.
i drove through a town i spent 4 years in today. the water tower looked a lot bigger back then. the roads a lot smoother. you a lot younger.
i miss you when i’m with you. it’s funny the way the government can make a plant illegal, you say, as you take a hit and let the smoke whistle down the back of your throat. your lungs scorched. the skeleton of a water bottle lay next to your right foot, you’re fucked.
sweating in the winter, that’s how i knew you were lying.
all i can say is i hope your skin stings from spots i once touched, invisible tattooed memories from a night of too much drinking. i want to spin this planet like a basketball on my finger tip, maybe roll us around back into place. together. sometimes, maybe, you’re just like gluten in my system that i can’t handle.
three days ago i saw my own veins in a cup on a table next to me. it reminded me of how you can see the veins in a shrimp. little strings. i wanted to knot them together into a bow tie and put them in a brown paper bag on the kitchen counter for me to look at when i need to remind myself my body is missing a few things. like some veins. and you
daily poem 1.0
And it was in the moment
between
when I was pulled over
and when it was done
that I had no one to tell
and that was when
I realized
I am the loneliness
I have ever been
in my entire life
Marlboro Reds
I find it kind of ironic
that for every picture you didn’t
want me to take
the film never got developed.
The smooth velvet edges of the
picture frame
now prick my fingers,
the blood stains over the sun
coming through the gap between
our heads.
I never thought
I could hate the smell of
Marlboro reds and
cinnamon gum
as much as I do
now.
nov 7 2012
Just wait—
In time
I will mean nothing
Just like
I always have
Just like
The way the ocean
Sinks into itself
When it starts to rain.
