We All Belong

It was hard walking up the dew-kissed lawn with the giant comforter draped about her shoulders. Her slippers were in no way made to provide such traction, and in the short climb to the street from the lower terrace, she slipped and fell a good number of times, wetting the knees of her pajamas. he was tired and her head was throbbing from the shrill chatter and drunken shouting downstairs.
Having caught her fall a third time, he was now busying himself with a cigar at the top of the hill, his face wrinkled slightly with exhausted concentration in the flickering light of the flame. When she caught up to him, shivering slightly in the chill, ears ringing from the noise which was now dwindling slowly as they walked farther and farther from the open door, he took the glowing cigar from his mouth and handed it to her with a vague and sleepy smile. She accepted it gladly, and as he lit another for himself, she stood silently on the sidewalk, breathing in deeply, letting the smoke invade her airways.
"Where we headed, anyway?" he muttered, pocketing his effects and taking a long drag.
"Nowhere," she suggested. "Anywhere."
The stars were glistening overhead. Some winked down at them with a coy appreciation of their venture into the night. Some looked close enough to touch; some looked billions of miles away. No crickets' song. By the soft porch light, a bat danced, gracefully swooping out of the still night air what little was left of the insects of Indian Summer.
"The truck?" he asked, quietly accepting a corner of the blanket as she offered it. She nodded, coughing lightly, and the two shuffled in the direction of the parked cars.
The truck was a celebrity among vehicles. Each piece of the body was a different color, in varying states of rust and decay. The color of the tailgate was long-forgotten, for every inch was plastered with colorful stickers for bands, charities, or clubs, or promoting political views, or sporting a popular cartoon character. No one knew to whom the worn-down truck properly belonged. It was always parked at these parties, anyway, and its six-foot bed was ideal for a private conversation or a peaceful smoke or a little bit of secluded intimacy.
The dew had already gotten to the plastic lining of the truck bed. She learned this upon sitting straight down, now wetting the seat of her pajamas along with the knees.
They giggled. Then, he climbed over the tailgate and laid out the comforter beneath them. They sat facing each other, leaning their heads and shoulders on the opposite sides of the truck, looking into each other's eyes. There was silence. She flicked her ashes behind her shoulder occasionally. He flicked his straight onto the comforter. They sat and smoked.
Just sitting and smoking was boring.
They tried talking. As fragrant smoke lingered around their heads and lifted their hushed voices gradually higher and higher into the darkness, towards the twinkling stars, and diffused itself casually into the brisk air around them, they exchanged every bit of information which had been locked away before, but which had been unleashed, were it by the exhaustion or the privacy or the burning cigars or the dew blanketing everything.
Her uncle was the only smoker in her family. He was a fucking failure, man, but he was a genius. An alcoholic. A junkie - literally addicted to every substance you could think of. Everyone hates him now, he ruined his life. Not her, though. She admired his ideas. He was clean now anyway, so he could see his daughter again. He was a Colorado pothead without a stomach, a cancer survivor with a PhD in biochemistry. He was a Buddhist Christian with two DUIs, a two-time divorcee with a lesbian crack dealer for an ex-wife. He had been clean for years. He had paid off all his debts and gotten a better-paying job than her parents. She was proud of him - he was so open about his addictions. But they were all anyone else ever saw; they never saw his recovery or his achievements.
He watched her face as she spoke. He watched the way her body melted into the blanket as she exhaled. He realized he knew nothing about this girl, and he liked it.
He asked if she knew Plath. She didn't. He asked if she knew Hughes. She didn't. He explained the complexities of Kerouac and Kafka and Tolkien. (She knew Tolkien. She loved Tolkien.) He became a storyteller of iconic tales. He summarized his favorite transcendental novels and recited his favorite beat poetry and together they analyzed syntax and gave birth to new meanings and possibilities and opinions. They laughed at how nerdy there were. He got out to relieve himself on the pavement. She didn't look.
She lit another. She could feel the dew creeping through the fibers of the blankets. They sat silently again. She put out her cigar.
"You're shivering," he said.
"No, I'm not cold." She coughed again.
"Come here." He returned to the truck bed and sat stiffly beside her. "You are freezing." His sweater was soft and warm. She leaned into him, nestled in the crook of his arm.
The stars looked down silently. They knew a secret. How cheeky they were.
He lit another, and smiled. "Go to sleep if you want," he muttered. "Let's not go back." She smiled and sighed and nodded. He looked up at the bright stars. They winked down at him. He winked back.

from the back of a pickup truck at 3am

is that my breath
or the smoke from
your silly lit-
-tle cigarettes

shhhhh! hehe

i see your friend
from the party
why does he have
to spy on us

--look at him--

it must be my
breath my cigar
has been out now
for a long time

hey...

the stars are bright
i forgot how
cloudy it has
been this past week

come here.

it is so cold
look you are shiv-
-ering so bad
you are tired

can i have a drag?

no lay your head
down youll never
get better if
you dont sleep some

i guess

life is so hard
lets not go back
lets just look up
at the bright stars

If I had one wish...

to see for one more day
with the eyes of the child
that i once was
where lies are simply mistakes
mistakes are simply lessons
lessons are simply words
and words mean exactly what
Merriam-Webster says they mean

to hear just once more
with innocent ears
not yet tainted with Four-Letter Words
(why did some not have four letters?)
or empty promises
or bad news
(even worse than "i am not
your friend")

to speak, to announce
with foolish confidence
and dauntless pride, for
i know something that someone else doesn't
and i can sound like my Parents
with big words
(like "Enthusiasm")
without the fear of being wrong
or of sounding dumb
or of offending a friend
of a friend

to love with an unbroken heart
whose limits have not been tested
and whose hopes are high
unbitten lips smiling
(because i used chapstick and
they're soft)
not having yet learned
that there's a "Too Far"
or a difference between
love and a waste of time

Wet Wings

I would fly away,
A symbol of how love does sting,
But you wet my wings.

We Spoke True Things Once...

Twilight glistens silently above our droopy eyelids
The summer air on the rooftop couldn't be more quiet
Placing bets on falling stars we swhisper nonsense words in two part harmony
Don't sing me a love song
I've been chased and loved by Romeos before
No Elizabethan prose
Don't try to make me laugh or make me cry or make me understand
Just tell me something that nobody knows
Here beneath the stars
Among the cigarettes and cars
And crickets singing
Tell me true words
Oh, tell me true words
Tell me true words you've never spoken before
Something keeps me lying here and waiting for a token
Something more contagious than nonsense words we've spoken
Breathing out and breathing in we whisper nonsense words in two part harmony
I've never been so sure
Wandering the streets on silent nights before
And mumbling in twelve bars
No on the roof we pass the bottle and we stare into the sky
And whisper secrets to the stars
Between the sting of rum
And all we've said, how far we've come
Maybe we're singing
Tell me true words
Tell me true words
Tell me true words you've never spoken before


The song stops here. So did the relationship, though.
I would have told him sooner if he hadn't been busy drinking himself dry.

How Is Your Heart?

Parkway lights driving home
Mix and blur with music
And passenger-seat complaints.
Stay open, eyes -
One hour more.

Some people shouldn't wear green.

All pressed together
Bodies and cigarettes which
Smell like smoke and sweat

Today was actually quite sunny.

I prayed this morning
for a little ray of sunshine
that stretched
and arched
upside-down
like a smile,
so bright and
cheerful,
reflected
against your blue eyes
and the blue skies,
and resounded
with the loudest laughter.

You can't eat my brain, I'm wearing this crash helmet.

i have driven

the car

that was in

the driveway

and that

you were probably

saving

for shopping

forgive me

it was thrilling

so swift

and so smooth

Big Top

There's a carnival in your eyes tonight
With lashes like red balloons
You tell me that you feel all right
You tell me that it's soon
Step up to the table, my good Sir
The grand prize is fireworks tonight


Come one, come all whenever you're around
It's like the day the carnival came to town


You spin me around tonight
On a painted horse of glass
Calling upon my audience
To hear what will come to pass
Sure to give you some terrible thrills, Sir!
And don't miss the fireworks, surely!

I sk-sk-skeeball whenever you're around
It's like the day the carnival came to town

And you and me
We're like a ferris wheel tonight
High as the highest mountain, baby
And spinnin around
And flashin lights

Now through midnight at the Big Top tent, sir!
Your name in fireworks in the night sky!
Step right up, don't be shy, you won't want to
Pass by this table any time soon!

And the fireworks resound when you're around
It's like the day the carnival came to town

Top Chef.

Oh cook, oh chef
Make me something hot and sweet
Not too heavy, not too light
Something smooth and warm and good to eat
Mix carefully, slowly
But don't make me wait
So sneak it in swiftly
Oh top of my plate
I don't want a menu
You know what I need
To hold between my cherry lips
So bring it hence, I plead!
Something to take in bit by bit
As its heat starts to spread
From my feet to my head
Something to come to rest
In my center, the heart of me
Something that must be shared between two
On this we both agree
Don't stop, don't move
Don't ask what's the matter
Just give me your heart on a silver platter.

Songwriting works best when you're bored as shit.

DARK ROOM
You gave the baby the microphone
When you got home
from playing the club and
You thought you'd hear a gargle like salt water
A burp or even
A coo like a dove and
The baby babbled when you set her down
And turned around
Like a baby oughtta do but
That baby knows the microphone
Like it's her home
And she got up
Singin like the crib was a stage
Sayin Mama Mama Mama
Put me back in the dark room
I came out too soon
The world wasn't ready
For a child like me
They're too busy eatin
And cutting down trees and
I like milk but I wanna play guitar
Booze it up with the stars
Tell the world who we are
but Mama Mama Mama
Mama Mama Mama Mama
Mama
I can't play when I'm chokin on smog and
I can't sing cause I'm barkin like a dog
Cause this world is turning too slow
I can't take it no, no
Mama made me too soon
Put me in the dark room
Cause you ain't ready for
A child like me
I said this crib ain't big
Enough for me, baby
I said you weren't ready for a
child like me, no
The world wasn't ready for
Me, baby!
You took away the baby's microphone
Took her real home
Outta her hand and
You kinda hoped she'd keep
doin her thing
Though how she could sing
You just didn't understand
The baby babbled when
you put her down
And turned around
Just like a baby oughtta do but
That baby needs the microphone
Like it's her home
So she just STOPPED
Mama Mama Mama
Put me back in the dark room
I came out too soon
The world isn't ready for
a child like me
They're too busy eatin and
cuttin down trees and
i like milk but I wanna play guitar
Booze it up with the stars
Tell the world who we are
And Mama Mama Mama
Mama Mama Mama Mama
Mama
I can't play when I'm chokin on smog and
I can't sing when I'm barkin like a dog
Cause this world is turnin too slow
I can't take it no, no
Mama made me too soon
Put me in the dark room
Put me in the dark room
Mama, put me in the dark room
Just STOP

PARROT BAY
She's a pretty good excuse for beautiful
And she wants you up in her room
You could feel the satin touch of love on your skin tonight
She wants you to buy her another
Go ahead, I'm all right
Go ahead, I'm all right
I'm all right, I'm fine
She's got a funny curve in th the
Bridge of her nose
Her cheekbones are too high
Can you still see that through your third Parrot Bay?
Do you remember when I was your
Good excuse for beautiful?
Your good excuse for beautiful?
Your good excuse for
Sneaking out into the summer night
And kissing under the city lights
And finding someplace where we could feel all right
Do you remember in the August heat
How we sweated our clothes off, let our bodies meet
You were a good excuse for beautiful
We were a good excuse for beautiful back then
THe past will stay with you
All we once went through
Will follow you, will follow through
I'll follow you, and the other girl, too
To Parrot Bay, to a place to stay
To your next excuse for beautiful

Paper Napkin

Oddly enough, idiocracy plows on slowly,

Plodding along in its galoshes, nickels in its hand.

Painting nonsense memoirs on the expensive paper

Called media

And forcing the most valued forces to scribble a few lines

On a paper napkin in a pub

And tape it to the restroom wall

And wait for a whisper of gratification

While idiocracy shouts its uprising into the microphone

Called media

Rousing the orgasms of idiots

Who are too busy with their nickels to notice a single whisper

of sincerity.

Reunion

A forward push
A backward fall
Back to where I was a year ago
Singing you love songs
Writing you sonnets
Back to the yearning I used to know
I leave home for my vacations
You come home for your vacations
And I sit and smile and don't let it show
I'll take you in
I'll let you win
I just don't want to let you go
You have my heart
I ache for yours
Rupert, don't go back, no
Five hours difference
And so far away
You broke my heart a year ago
And now you're here, I'll have you know
Even though I won't let it show
I just don't want to let you go.

Whoever knew txting could be so poetic? (oh btw its valentines day!)

okay so a few poems i wrote for my valentine ;)
the first one is about txting him... i love the irony of the beauty of poetic words and the casual nature of txt.
the second one is some fun with structure about how we met
and the third is a haiku. because it's valentines day.
after that is the saying on the necklace i bought myself as a valentines gift.
it means "i love you more than yesterday, less than tomorrow."


Like whispering the lyrics
Of a child's mind
Over billions of cells in existence
Do we even know where they are?
Writhing in ecstacy
Quietly
-quietly-
Painting for me words
I have known for years -
I feel like I have heard them
for the first time.
Each letter of precision
is an indication that I
should not give up
Even if all we are doing
is sending words through a space
we cannot even see.

A twenty hour stretch

Speeding

Flying

Grinding

across a thousand miles

of hot

sticky

summer

pavement

fused souls like glue

and

a

charter

bus

(that couldn't have smelt worse)

couldn't have

felt

better

until a year later

when i realized:

i

love

you.

I hate valentines.
But will you be mine? I
could use some torture.

JE T'AIME

PLUS

QU'HIER

MOINS

QUE DEMAIN

♥