No communication.

I've sealed so many envelopes in my life.
Words of intention licked to the edges,
Packed silently away, a memory and a postage paid.
And into my bag, slipped for safe keeping.

I've kept to many address books in my life.
Phone numbers memorized and programmed into every device.
Voices echoing through the receiver.
and into my mind, other's words are absorbed.

I've hugged so many people.
I've told so many the truth.
I've said I love you.
We've both cried over lost time.

Why?

Everyone knows the only hope we have is in a lost title.
Stuck somewhere between morality and insanity.

But you... Every time I pick up a pen,

I write entire essays, fill envelopes..
I always tear up your cards and letters.

I pick up the phone, I dial your number.
But the call never connects. I hang up.
Or leave messages I know you'll never return.

This isn't war, or hate, or disgust.

I simply cannot live with my past.
And you.. are the holder of it.

I'm so sorry.

Childhood

I want to make your palm grow trees and vines
Like the signs we missed saying "No turn on red"
In my head your still the same
Five years old, missing teeth, gleaming.
Icecream drip drip drip down the cheeks
and the weeks I'd miss school and pretend to be an adult.
We'd play dolls in a townhouse in a neighborhood that was manufactured.
My eyes getting misty as I think about the times we'd hide under my bed
and tell eachother fake vows and promises of marriage and happily ever after
Now we're adults.
And here you are...
Standing up against gay marriage.



I guess you were always good at lying at me.

Who are you?

The Plastic

Her painted eyebrows slanted slightly up
As if to constantly imply a quizzical nature.
My hands ran past her hips and up her sides
Drawing red marks in ink, promising compromise under the knife.
"A little to the left, just there, okay.. We'll fix that"
And the mumbling from those red lips sounded like
Oh yes. Oh yes.
She was beautiful before those days in the sun
The rays of light caressing her body like Divine intervention
I know in my head it will all be alright.
The insertion of the tube in her throat is only temporary, right?
She'll be breathing on her own again?



Right?




They inserted the silicone beneath perfect skin
Supple and waiting eagerly for idealism.

Why did my angel de-wing herself?
Why did she fall so suddenly into the operating room?
If I could catch her, would she claw her way out of my embrace?


Her eyes filled with relief and then went blank

I kissed her forehead and looked at her one last time.
Remembering the way she was, before that day

Lights out

To the Hospital

To think
My moans of pleasure are similiar to that of my groans of pain.
To feel exhausted after proceedures like I do after love making.
To know that I may die of pleasure, or in pain.
It all feels the same
Just one I'd die willingly.
The other, miserably.

But why?

It's all in my head.

Asphyxiation

Your eyes met mine in a bed,
I bled,
as your thighs brushed against me like an animal.
I inhaled and begged for your hands
To trap
my escaping gasps.
Oh yes, choke me
He said yes
and out of distress
My orgasm erupted
Onto him

Your turn
My hands burnt
against your neck
The terrified look
in your eyes
told me
you liked it

I did, too.

Born on the Fourth Of July

Sideways, she walked down the cerebral cortex.
Constantly looking from side to side, bending down to touch the earth.
Ah, yes, we know him so well in the galleys of our mind.
Strung up like Christmas lights sparkling in the window of a brothel.
She's talking in two tongues.
Something that sounds like French and a mix of Southern Hospitality.
Her allergy to silver never satisfied her fashion needs.
Wearing the metal until she bled,
crying "OH the things I do for fashion.."
A life gripped in her palm,
Enclosed with the star-y, the spangle-y, and the banter.
Oh yes, mad man grow in such futuristic settings.
And if you would have listened to the floor boards,
Instead of The Pledge of Alligence...
You'd hear Tom Waits filling the delivery room,
Cold words from a coarse mouth.
"I don't have a drinking problem 'Cept when I can't get a drink."

He was born.
He was Born.
Born he was..
On this day..
That we.. Couldn't give a flying fuck about.
But God Damn, raise your glass..
For the fucking mad man himself.
Born on the Fourth of July. (Poor thing)


Happy Birthday!
"I'll take a rusty nail, scratch your initials in my arm..."

Eve

White drop.. drip drip drip.
Chemical biohazard.
Solid water inform in line.
Oh, we know of your secrets.
Do not be alarmed.
Just lap it up,
tongue to the floor.
Shh Shhh
It's okay.
It'll taste better after you wash it down with the draino.