Wednesday, May 27, 2009

I Don't Need You

I neatly lay the directions to your place face up in my garbage. A scribbled mess on the back of some receipt, 24.99 for a pack or two and a drink. I stare for a moment wondering if things would change should I place it the other way, destroy it, destroy you and place it away. The leather bound book she gave me last year sits on a shelf and I think of writing her a note about losing a friend, losing my ends. The lines are crossed, the pen bleeding, the ink smudging, I don't need you, I need you all at once, I don't need you at all. The paper is torn, a heart is scorned by the lyrics of dylan and derek and more. I don't need you, I need you all at once, I don't need you at all.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Red Lips

I kiss your wounds and my lips bleed red. My lips bleed red lips, dirty and weighing heavy from my head. Blood red lips on a messy and foolish nuisanced lover. Blood in our fighting, in our struggling hot city pavement. Red melting and tripping as we walk into a wet heat dripping from our eyes leaking with tears that cannot cry. Lips touching hovering sending another love away, drinking forgetful dialogues to words remained unchanged. My lips bleed red lips while wishing the dusk magic hour glowed into black churches, glowed back into us. Red love lost to an ashen bloodshed.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

New York Bricks

I could smoke myself into a hole inside your skull, fast and hard and sharp. Before you know it your head on pillows and bricks faking up on the wrong side of my bed. Empty suitcases, crowded staircases, piles of people dust, lonely cities, lust. And New York was just some aimless dream of hazy rancid crusts.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

The Crash

Flying with hazing lights, glass shattering off the sky bouncing sharply into glistening congreeds. My stomach, weightless, turns knots like a machine forging slur and slush on the long road home as wheels fold in the bathtub waters of west side highway. A missed exit leads me high above skyscrapers, high above everyone, above myself. The road ends. Miles below is a fall from nothing and my weightless stomach flips into a crash to end it all.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

The Horses Hear

Her hair like strands of mud strewn hay waves effortless and crashing to her face, wind knotting and tangling golden highlights into dirtied darkened roots. She breathes in the unspace left from a heartless chest, gasping the air of cigarettes, blackening her crumbling soul to dust to dust.

The horses hear these melancholic sighs, heaving towards her on the highwayside, through the clay caught in their hoofs and the thorn ridden whimpering brush. An echo chimes, reverberating the dissatisfaction of their ordinary lives to never race against the winners instead to hide amongst the losers. To sit, to stand, to eat, to sleep, repeat repeat and to wait for lust lost lovers in dust in dust.

Her hand grazes the peachy softness of his heavy nostrils, feeling his burden palm to touch, alone and caught in the tarnished rot of her malignant green eyes twitching exhaustively and starring into a benign glimmering black as he stares back. The sun browns her china doll skin imperfect moles scattered grass-chewing dandelion seeds blowing wishes into the dusk, wishing for night to fall shadow upon their manes, with dust with dust.