there is nothing cordial in
listening to myself be a hypocrite
as i wrongly presume you’re listening

what are snow storms for
if not to prove everyone alone

and then you are angry and
sleeping on the couch to ruin
a third night with substance

i am not asking you to come back
because you left like an idiot

Advertisements

night

and then we’re back to
panic attacks in lieu
of purity

one of the dogs pants
under the covers and
i think ‘you know the solution
to this problem you stupid,
loveable creature’ and
i think ‘people probably say
the same about me’

night comes to swallow you
in the appropriate doses but
intoxication never took me
that easily

we’re both full of promises
we aren’t keeping like
i will change the cat litter
and you will make the bed

tell me what part of
trying to counteract
melatonin is sexy

at 9:03 pm i have proven myself
a mediocre guitar player
a moonlit anomaly
a habitual poet
an alcoholic
lonely

get used to
deciduous silhouettes and
frozen earth

cities are restless –
all of them

if it were possible to
strangle someone
a province away
through a telephone,
you would be
short of breath

you’ve painted me
feminine in all the ways
i never wanted to be

shelley says
‘you can’t sentence jian
until the courts have’
and i say
‘yes i can’
comfortable in this chair
your absence
my skin

november 26, 2014

frantic subconscious
always trying to
find fault in the
unflawed

yesteryear reflected in
triangles cut from
paper snowflakes

fleeting epiphanies
hit hard and go home
at three am on
monday evenings
when i used to be
the charismatic drunk

it’s in the way you
put my anecdotes in
your pockets so
they don’t get lost

each and every time
i lied my way through love
it came more easily and
that’s why i could never
look anyone in the eye

coming up on an anniversary
of the best and worst day
of my life, i find in all
my old clothing
my old writing
my old hobbies
a stranger and a friend,
an excuse and an apology,
an honest resolution

guilty of
refuge in bottles,
all the energies
emerge distorted

i credit cynism for
my intelligence,
the analytical
pessimist

winter finds us in her
arthritic clutches, but
impulse – reliable, destructive
impulse says stay here,
feel worthy,
let love

never have i been so certain
or reliable
or afraid

november 25, 2014

braided tree as designated
company for the evening
sits comfortably in
the right hand
corner

and that soul music on the
record player last night
sure did some things
for my inclination
to marry you