She ate without silverware
in her underwear

her underwire

holding her beauty
keeping all the sin
locking it all in
practically to her chin

even if i was at the end of the line
would you still be my valentine?
would you break down
and cry
at every sentence i pieced together?
would you take my hand
and walk with me
until the night came, or our feet couldn't
take anymore?

if i was the last person
you met
in life
on your deathbed, would you love me back?

i feel cursed
and accused
and wrong
only for meeting you
too soon

i feel lost
and useless
and trapped
only for being memorized
by you
too early

this could be so much more
than what it has become
if we had only waited to meet
for the first time

we all waited
for the giver to come

congregating in gigantic churches
with steeples and all
with big beautiful windows
for him to peer right in
but instead, he reached around the front
and pulled us out one by one

for an addition to a sand castle
for pure amusement

the giver heated up a giant pin
and melted it through our eyes
the giver pulled off heads, reattaching
them to other bodies

the giver
pulled off clothes
and toes
and hair

he stuck us in different houses
he took pictures
of people mowing lawns
of people flying planes
of people taking baths

he showed them to his mother
he showed her the destruction
and she said

pick up your toys

who knows what will happen
will we grow old?
break the mold?
or fold
and do what we're told?

I tried to make it out, but the winter was cold
and froze
the whole time
waiting for my summer clothes
waiting for a breath of air that wouldn't hurt
waiting for summer shoes
and shirt
and skirt
waiting for the warm and wet kiss
of march
to march in the door
and seduce me

I couldnt take a job that year
I might have done it out of fear

cold and alone
i clung to the phone
the only giver of the warm
the only producer of charm
day after day
i fattened up
and stirred awake in bed

I couldn't wait
for the dawn to break
for a new day to come
to sun away the snow
to wash away the blow
scattered on the streets
and i wanted for the spring
for the soft sight of her tasty eyes
for the feel of her skin
for the smell
of love and life
and sexual sin

now, spring has sprung
from
the bottom rung
under soul and tongue
and all the spring green
growing underneath
was swept from under feet

we welcomed the sun
and i told you to hold my hand

you retired and gave in
you listened

the rocks below
sang their sweet melody
back
out
to the great lake
while we watched our hands grow dark
at the same time intertwined

it was something from a dream
something
mr. robert frost himself
would write
but
your skin grew cold

and i couldn't remember the recipe
to bring you back to life
no pen or quill or knife

not a vision
or sound
could bring you back
to solid ground

so i watched you float away
singing of distance and virtue
and fate
and the like

screaming out into the night

i was standing still
while the moonlight
lit
the soggy grass

i was laughing quietly
while you were
running circles

spreading love
and blood
and manure
in equal measures
about the same distance apart

to grow food
i assume

i am on the high wire
throwing, spitting words
and verbs
but nobody comes, not unless you tell them too
not unless you say its cool
nobody thinks for themselves
anymore
anyway

they will all, one by one, wither
into distance
out of existence
while their footprints
fossilize and become the earth

from the doorway
desperate footage reveals
an inhumane right of passage
a ritual of fate
and forgiveness
while the bum in the back alley
screams out blood and wine
and cigarettes

the dormitory window flickers with rape

the corner store shuts down

and as the attendant of your life
walks out the door
and closes shop

you think for a second
"where to now?"

Everybody here is mediocre
i grew up to watch my peers
and friends
find comfort in absolutely nothing,
a job, a spouse, a house

the baby boomer generation
breeding mediocrity,
all they wanted
was a house and a car and a couple children
a television (large)
and a place to retire
all the while,
leading their kids nowhere
nowhere

they did not inspire
dreams and hopes
only goals and guidelines
laws and work times

it's hard to wake up
and be extraordinary
when the only thing you were ever taught
was to be mediocre

this comes to mind: American Movie

Night comes and goes
in America
just the same as
everywhere else
but we hold all the wealth
and health
and keep it for our self

if your neighbor sleeps soundly
by the skin of his own teeth,
then why can't we
escape such belief?

money to the trash man
money to the trash
money to the bills
but there's not enough cash
to heal the world

not enough care
to stop the fight
only wealth
and manifested right
right?

poor America is right
and ripe
with medicated water
and preserved food
to keep your nose
preserved, upturned and rude

enough corn syrup
to flood a small continent
but we're confident
we condescend
and represent
representative democracy

She collected coins
shining each one
one by one
right before sleep

she would soak them
in groups of ten
in a milk-white liquid on the windowsill
everything happened on the windowsill
she couldn't hang a shelf
for the life
of her

the dirt and grime,
silver and nickel
sadly, ended up in her sheets
and in sleep
would make it's way to her skin

morning came
each day
every day
and lit up the cluttered sill,
all her belongings,
and her skin
grimy
with silver
and nickel and dirt

the morgue called
and wanted me
to identify
the body

they took me out to
the greenery
and dirt
and picnic tabled park
where we had met

they led me across the grass
pinned on the earth
with rusted charcoal grills

and there she stood
cold and still
in the 70 degree heat

her nickel
and copper hair
frozen, blowing
gracefully
forever