I took you Out

and smelled you until i sobbed.
it isn't supposed to smell like you anymore.
Where is the statute of limitations?
in the same place where this ignored love lives.
all i want to do is hold you emotionally hostage
with all my bullshit.
My requests are forty grand in unmarked bills
a jet to the keys
and your promise that you'll come down with Stockholm's Syndrome

Turns out

I'm not all that into potato chips like i thought i was.
I actually enjoys most things tortilla.
This discovery makes me wish i didn't waste my time.
I'll bet you wish the same, don't you?
I hope this has no ill effects on our un-relationship.
The fact that potato chips no long "do it" for me
shouldn't bring a cloud of uneasiness over our good time

The Poem of a Lonely Man

Is a case of voyeurism gone terribly awry
I've watched him take her in with glances;
claiming her in the name of [name here]
the tiny mole on her neck not with a flag
but with his lips. . .
his eyes have a pathetic longing not unlike
a dog's. that tongue is similar as well
he's this close [forefinger and thumb quite close]
to doing something rash:
kidnap
rape with words
"you remind me of my mother. i want to kiss
you."
I'm violated just by watching him.
pressing gifts of dead flowers
trips to the park
these are all the things riddling his mind
when he looks at her.
I want to give him one good slap and pull
him
out
of
her.

those who had a hand in my conception

those who had a hand in my conception, i forgive you.
you had no idea what you were about but you forged
ahead with the pretenses of being experience.
although some of you couldn't hack the journey, it proved
too difficult, the remainder had enough gumption to bull
shit to the best of their ability. i see that same ability in
myself and i am thankful for that small fortification.
i look back and see how far you've come and how far
i must go to become involved in someone else's conception.
i'm prepared to do what must be done to shape another's
psyche. i don't mind that i've as much experience as those
before me when they started. the skill to bull shit is ready
at my disposal.
so truly, those who had a hand in my conception. . .
i forgive you

it occurred to me. . .

That i'm getting older and not younger.
billy idol is sounding much older too.
he's too old for white weddings.
i'm too old for billy idol.
This is bullshit.
for real.
really.

that never happens

can you pass me a cigarette?
I can't, I'm out.
you're out? well what are we supposed to do?
talk?
I hate it when you answer my questions with questions.
That sounds fuckin' cliche. I hate it when people use that phrase.
Well what else am i supposed to call it? fucking annoying?
Look us, we're talking.
I guess we are.

You wanna talk about it?
About what?
Why you don't have a cigarette.
I usually have them, you know that. tonight, i'm out.
You're usually good about having them.
What do you want me to say about it?
I don't know. What do you want to say about it?
Are you doing the same fucking thing you accused me of doing? That whole question thing?
Sorry.
It's all right.

ingenue

He came from behind me that evening, wrapping his arms around my waist. His touch surprised me. Our faces were close, I could feel his breath against my ear; his chest against my back.

"Hi," I said with a shaky laugh.

"Is that what you would say to your attacker?"

I wanted to tell him that his arms didn't feel like an attackers. I glanced in the mirrors of the dojo studio. The rest of the students were stretching and warming up. I knew we were attracting their glances.

"I don't see you making any moves."

I passed through all the steps that would disable my attacker without really thinking about them. I mocked stepping on his foot, shifting my hips to hit his groin with my fist and then twisting around to hit the side of his head with my elbow.

"Not bad."

"Thanks," I said and immediately blushed as he removed his arms. I ran my fingers through my bangs and tucked them in my ponytail. "I tried to practice my stuff but no one in my family wants to attack me." I laughed. "I think they're afraid."

He smiled and put his hands on his hips. "Not even your boyfriend? Is he afraid too?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," I told him. I said it as cooly as I could, but it came out in a shaky voice.

He nodded in obvious approval. I saw it, could anyone else? I didn't bother to let my gaze drift to the mirrors that surrounded the dojo. "Let me know when I can help," he commented. "It's been awhile since i've gone through the green belt attacks. . . but I'm sure it's all there."

I saw how he set himself up for a compliment. For some reason, I helped him along and finished it for him. I smiled. "Well of course it's been awhile, you're a black belt."

"Third degree," he corrected.

"Third degree," I corrected myself.

dark parking lot

I don't think i noticed his car, or him, the other day the bus passed the parking lot. After i saw him standing beside the car smoking, i wondered how many times i could have seen him before. It was the car i noticed first. i don't know a thing about cars, but i knew this one rather intimately. It was classy, foreign, black and shiny. It shined like the driver's life depended on it. It also seemed reasonable that Satan could have been that driver. With a car that sharp, he could have made house calls.



But the driver was not Satan, he was a white man in his forties, balding at the back of his crown, and wore a office man's uniform. The plume of smoke that came from his cigarrette was the second thing i noticed. I remembered its smell instantly. As if we were together again, hot and sweaty, him correcting my technique, me mumbling my apologies.



i saw his face for the briefest of moments and looked away in embarrassment. What did i have to be embarrassed about? When i looked back, he got in his shiny car. The bus got further away. i turned in my seat to look behind me. His car was gone. As always, i was left frustrated.