Coffee, Insanity and that 1 time it Mattered

Remember that time I almost woke you up?

You slept through the first fifteen and since then it’s all coasting down hill.
The gravel pit is safe but smells like disaster; or rotting flesh- limited capacity to think, so who cares?
Let the vultures have their share…
The smell of fried meat and no distinction to what’s dead and forgotten. Trans fats are penicillin for the taste buds

You look so cute with your little bonnet wound tight and the skin taut but not excessive— I WONDER WHAT YOU TASTE LIKE?
It’s like I can smell you from here- the fragrant innocence, at least at a distance. And that distance makes it ok to stare.

your eyes wont blink, and you’d care if the world outside made sense.
No one will make you care about others.
No one will make you care for yourself.

iLife

How strange that I haven’t heard from you in so long, and I know I miss you.

What seems strange to others..

You don’t call or write and every blurb is from a stranger. Each sentence, lip synched from a keypad; a bald spot now infinitely greater, wrinkles distinct with hands gesturing on a piece of paper with a pencil. Saddle bags and muffin tops and restrooms where the piss splashes onto the floor.

And yeah– you and I look fucking stupid playing along.

…The lost art of keeping it personal. Now marketed for mass appeal.

Miles of clutter & shit as I stumble blindly through what I remember of us. Or me- maybe there was never an “us”? Being drunk isn’t a memory- it’s slavery. BELIEVE IT, OR DIE IN DISBELIEF.

We don’t see each other anymore, but I know so much about you; the economy of motion- and all your thoughts as they line up in a day.

Where was that moment we lost touch?
[Banality won’t disguise your own contempt.]
… and that’s just a funny word for your sorry ass life. And the investment I made.

You have decided to check out a long time ago. And I watch you walk out the back door- anonymity is a rare find.

Your bags are where I left them.

Let Go

Catching it from all sides, and you know how that feels.
So grab the guard rail and let go of the wheel.
What is futile, making sense of this place,
in every corner; stifled- without exit or escape.

I dreamt that you left me and that’s enough for me,
because without me there’s only you and traction from where the skid marks grate the pavement.

Not enough that we tried,
effort ignores that stretch of reality.
And the road comes to an end. All things end or we start again…

Patron

I need you to know that it hurts when you stare,
but I’m glad you’re attentive.

I’ve turned this hill into an impasse once again;
my shoes worn thin, and my nerves made dull.

Somewhere, the unnerving pause- your smile sent my impulse into a compulsive nod.

I followed your silhouette under the sky-light, as you made your way out the door.
And it was only worth something to me

Forward the Tones of a Blackened Sky

Blemish the night, once pastel, now greying in the eclipse of the moons sphere.
Orbiting in space and a solemn place,
I can hear her laughter from the porch- a familiar warmth aroused into a harsh drift.
Decaying through the screen door; kept needle points of thirsty friends,
Accompanying the moon but so far away.

Like distance we swore we understood,
The air dense with haste and how we could not move.