<$BlogRSDURL$>

The police report.

I wrote you in my notebook
with hopes of bringing you
happiness
why do i waste my time
writing poems
and half-sentences?
I do need a relief
I do need to stop
and begin a story with meaning and purpose
with intellect and intelligence
you always did have more wit
but you can't blame a man for trying
and typing
and scratching love notes
into his paperback hands

The story would start:
with loss
and broken heart
main character struggle
without hopes
hopeless
without faith

and he meets a girl
their eyes connect
over margaritas and caffeine
he's over protective
and she is wild
twisting on the dancefloor
he writes
she reads
without hesitation critiques and shoots down his dreams

and our main character
deals
eating Ramen noodles
and eggs
and watches porno

as his girl dances away the night
as the girl drifts through life
she passes out drinks
and passes out drunk

He's over protective
she's under dressed

And the story would read:
She was out late

And the police report would say:
"She had a big blue car
she got lost on the way"

The story would read:
She stepped into a puddle
as the Seattle rain soaked her beautiful long dark hair
it wouldn't be long until the cigarette smell
of the late night
tavern and bar
and corner store
freed itself from her prison cell hairdo
and her curls will sag
in less than a minute as she tightens up her jacket
and reaches for her keys

The police report would say:
"She made many friends from all walks of life
people from down south and up north, the mid west was her favorite,
but she loved an east coast accent"

The story would read:
Her car was left untouched
it's big blue footprint in the parking lot
left for all of history
left for somebody else to drive home
to be impounded
to be booted
to be sold and have it's big blue mileage turned backwards
Back before she was born?
Before she went out?
the mileage read the night they met
the mileage said nothing ever happened
there was no love
not yet
she was never picked up at 7:30 on the dot
he never slipped inside for a sip of wine and a tour of her apartment
they never sat in the drive thru waiting for greasy burgers and french fries
she never stole his pickle when he looked away
and her hair was never brushed out of her eyes
as they never kissed for the first time

The story would read:
that he knew it all along
of the parties
and the men
of dances
of drinks
and walks to her big blue car
It read of how he was worried
It read of how much he cared and how long they were together
how he had devoted all of his time and faith
It read of how she turned out to be
nothing more than what he always expected; yet never wanted
It read of how he reached out and grabbed her arm
tears
rolling down his already soaking cheeks
from his swollen red eyes

The police report would say:
"She didn't know him"

The story would read:
He loved her.

Quantum love.

The moon lit up your hazel eyes
as i drove around 285
and you told me you loved me
when i mixed you a drink
and kissed you on the cheek
and every other girl reminds me of
how abstract your beauty is
your beautiful is

and circling the city like this
your arms out the window
screaming for the world to stop spinning around your feet
that fateful gravity
your quantum smile
and your Planck scale, newton lips
you're everywhere at every time
and where are you not?

she speaks to me and says
"Baby, as the sun is burning and tasting every chemical reaction. As the moon revolves around the earth. As your quark and charm heart still beats, stay with me"

It's intersection time
as the 400 makes it's own cool way out of state
time slows.....
my baby kisses cheek.

OooOh Scarry!

Your coffin steams and swells
as your body visits Hell.