a public display of hostility

Here I lay, awake at odd hours, masochistically inactive, unmoving toward the other side of the burnt bridge, hoping the flames may spark the resolution unachieved on the greener side during sunnier times.  Perhaps this is what keeps a frantic mind moving toward sleepless nights, into open space that is the cataclysmic demise of busy thoughts, what keeps us howling to the night about a paw full of thorns when, really, we were the ones fooling around in the rose bush in the first place.

So, then, I patiently wait for the day when time is at the mercy of selfish hands, skipping past upsetting affairs, slowing the motions during every arc, and pausing at each passion until the moments are so emblazoned in your being, you hum them under heavy breath each night you sleep alone.  The frivolity of inaction will, then, slip away to obscurity, chalking up each bad decision to something beyond all control. 

Perhaps, then, we can sleep at night.

a spastic's ballet

it's a dance, in half time. time step-step-step-half step-step-step step. i can't always see with these eyes, but i walk with pointed toes pointed north, magnetic north, tip toeing to places my eyes cannot see. rub my sweaty palms down the thighs of these faded jeans and tap my fingers -two-three-four and keep a beat to keep from losing it. -two-three-four.... repeat what you know - two-three-four... you are a girl -two-three-four... you live here -two-three-four... it is a new year. dancing june bugs in january mean my eyes are on siesta til i can blink them all away which is never. tango onto the bed and tangle into the sheets and cover my head underneath unwashed jersey seats that smell like me but who am i again? i am a girl -two-three-four. you live here -two-three-four. keep it together -two-three-four. anxious eyes try to catch every moving spot they know don't belong. winter rainbows paint my walls electric red and black and green, and when i blink into a close, i can spin onto the ground, never once hitting the floor. round and round and round and - shhhhh.

love letters

who knew haunts spoke cursive? in inks, both black and blue, smudged with sweaty palms and disappointed tears. their life has been evaporated off the page, and the meaning is all but dead to me now. the young anticipation has found its resolution, and it turns out that nobody won the grand prize. and our eyes? i still have mine, still brown with green when the sun is kind, and i trust you still have yours, lest some scorned lover has finally scratched them out. steel blue, with gray, and brown, and green, and every other natural eye color in one, times two, is how you got your yes. but no. no more staring, looking for that something, that was nothing, in the pupils of young love, too dilated to see what was really there. just a ghost of a memory of beautiful mistakes made in thick picnic days, without so much as a breeze. how foolish your pen behaved when writing me such delusive lyrics for our adulterous soundtrack. and look, the poor words are all but withered under the weight they were asked, forced to carry for so long. only whispers of their curves and lines remain, and when i squint my big browns with sometimes greens, I can make out the shape of all your good intentions. but dare i blink! and there they go, back to the shadows of dictionary definitions and thesaurus synonymous. you have left the page, and left me with a page of words, no longer yours no longer meant for me. but, to remember the dead, i will fold you in four, and tuck you into your forever resting place amongst words that are as dead as yours. i pray we will not meet again, but you dance on those oppressively hot summer nights when i have no company to keep you away. but still, between two cardboard covers you will lay until, someday, i can finally put you to rest.

bitch slap

im smoking my lucky ciggarette to classic rock on the FM radio driving to an undisclosed locale, blowing out smoke, blowing off steam - i wonder if this is what they meant when they said lifes a bitch or if this is just one of them days - if you were here i would slap you across the face and ask you to leave, even if thats not what either of us really wants - it just seems like the right thing to do - ive lived so long without a dramatic fight with an ex lover and ive picked you for the part of the antagonist in my picture show - so get your gas money and drive out here so i can never see you again, because im dying to be the one to say goodbye