sitting, watching
ephemeral vapors
rise from the pores
of the long, dark
stretch of road
that we see in
our headlights

Grinding at the road, the bus jittered and swayed
Moving our bodies along with its erratic rhythm
I closed my eyes letting the dissonance overtake me

So when are we getting that studio apartment in the city
Where I’ll write the lyrics and you’ll sing the songs?

Never showed up at Broad Street, it wasn’t like you.
Save me a seat, you said, we’ll go house hunting together

My backpack, laid onto my jacket, both waited
For you to arrive, saving the vacant seat next to me

It was finally when your sister called, hysteria in every word
That I knew your absence would never be filled

But the bus still rattled, and thumped through traffic
Changing direction with potholes and pebbles
As I sat, spinning between silence and chaos

my mind is a-clatter with unmentionables,
unmentionables that ring,
unmentionables that sting,
thoughts that should not be spoken,
thoughts that would leave me broken
in the eyes of all those around
if they knew my thoughts underground
but luckily i keep my head,
and the unmentionables stay in a cozy bed
of repressed thoughts and feelings
so that no one has to go reeling.

Two dogs bark
more than one dog barks
but they still both bark,
just one barks less than two.

the little one chides
the big one chastises
the little one bites
and the big one… tries to kill him

but it all works out
for the sweet bliss
(that’s made that much sweeter)
when they both stop barking

…for a second anyway

Slacking feels
Oh.
So.
Good.
Until I realize
Everyone else
Is doing it too
And nothing
Gets done
And I have
Nothing to
Look at and
Nothing to
Read if you
Get my drift

When asked about
sandwiches
I replied
that I
had not the time
nor frame of mind
to do a single bit
of word-smithing

But seeing as
that frame of mind
has
(supposedly)
been found,
I’ll meintion, again,
sandwiches,
and quote:

“Best when
dressed with mustard,
fried with oil,
and shared with friends”

addendum:

“Especially
at One-Aye-Emm”

Lines tracing lines in brittle paths
Mountains worn smooth and small as grain
Crumbling between fretted fingers
Tumbling to miniature spires
Amid a canvas of green and salt

Delicate dimples curving portraits
Memories shape shift and scuttle
Leaping down shallow ravines
Bracing for cascading bubbles
To overflow and wash away
Refreshing a pallet never ending

When drawing
in the study
it becomes the drawing room
im-promp-tu

And the music room
when someone grabs the
a-cous-tic
and drags it in by
the strings

So now there’s a
drawing-music room
and some jackass
is writing
some po
-e
-try
just to -really-
complicate things

…but, I suppose,

everyone is studying.

Teeth

Your teeth are
glistening

Your teeth are
smiling through your
smile at me

Dripping, nearly
drooling all their own

Please
Don’t
Bite
Too
Hard

Your teeth
are smiling through
your smile at me

Smile at me
Please,
It
Makes
The
Bite
Less
Hard

Rain falls a miracle
the learned ones green or old wheeze sneeze a drop against my psyche,
the old friend, throbbing incoherent nibbling on the Rorschach test
and I see
lightnings and thunders livening the night
bats and butterflies colorful and dark
music dancing through her
myself eaten up by a spinach quiche.

In my new old apartment, German roaches roam unconquered
some days, I wake up with a few rounded up beneath my belly,
little freeloading bastards,
how about a bottle of red? maybe some pinto beans instead
to cover up the uneasiness born out of our relationship –
my kicking maternal instinct.
But motherhood is a many-splendored thing, for
tomorrow, the little darlings will die.
The Landlady promised.

Tonight, the little one is by the window,
still and fragile
the rain tap dance against the glass
I can taste the metal
How we all fit, big small discontinued
scattered and invisible.
one phone call, the universe’s landlady
nice and demure will send out her control team
and off the pest go. Welcome the spinach!

I want to
spend the night with you
on someone else’s furniture
and wake up early
because we both have work in the morning

and I want to drive down the highway
on fumes
and I want to drive down the country road
on the same fumes

I want to
sit and listen to you
almost but not quite
crying
over anything,
everything,
that makes you almost
but not quite
cry

And I want to
FIGHT
I mean I really want to
FIGHT
for anything there is
to fight for

and I want to drive down the highway
on fumes
and I want to drive down the country road
on the same fumes

Though I’m really happy for them
and I’m constantly excited by
the thought of infinite potential
I can only hope that everything
goes wrong

It’ll be that much more
satisfying
when they finally
pull everything
together.