I remember we weren't alone


who was the third?


I remember jealousy
I remember whiskey
I remember wanting to kiss you.


I remember sharing a cigarette
bright orange traffic cones
and then































































silence.

The sky falls most heavily on the heads of those formerly winged.

One by one they come to their senses
through the tragedy of an unavoidable compulsion
out of the thick hungover fog of midnight
finding nothing,
finding no one
familiar.

Oh theirs is a family now,
vegan and dry,
hair thin
flesh thick.

Me,
I feel like I am still on fire
in taxis at all hours
in every manner of condition
running toward
chasing down
running from.

At some point we looked out of place
because we were out of place
and now
after everything
here
we
are.

All the best S.

You used to call me drunk at 4am and in the background I
could clearly hear the sound of your vibrator
humming away deep inside of you.

You usually only managed quick bursts of filth,

"please please please daddy, tell me how you'd handle me,"

and so,

never being one to disappoint,

I would set quite the scene as
I cut perfectly uniform lines on the nightstand.

You would whine and moan until you reached the big finish
making sure to tell me exactly when, where, and how much.

Then you'd hang up without saying a word
and I would finish rolling up my last dollar bill.

I hear you got engaged today.

Congratulations.

You were always a good one,
and I never minded answering your call.

I scraped your face off the ceiling
and hung your eyes on the walls
so I could I feel like someone was always
watching.

How do you want to be seen and
how do you see yourself at thirty-aught?
I want to throw dice onto your bare, ivory stomach to
see how you roll.

The thought of setting eyes upon you again
fills me with want
and a rush of blood to the extremities,
a tonic for my
one
track
mind.

There is more honesty in raw overtures than polished ones.
How much time is spent dancing
around the crux of
the primal
matter?

I could, of course, weave silken words
and say
that 'I dream of you darling, a vision
wrapped in satin at the edge of the shore,
your silhouette drawing me toward infinity.'

The reality is that I want to fold you like origami
into a naked paper swan
for an anarchic acrobatic copulation,
a river of salt and sweat.

To kneel before your body in the boundless depth of woman
a servant and master
ably tasked with administering animal pleasures
until your eyes are blind,
your limbs uncontrollably shake,
and all resistance to the moment and self-awareness
dissolve.

And in the resultant silence
as the room swirls back into view
you offer up a breathless
and almost imperceptible
"Thank you...


...thank you,



thank you."

There is no nostalgia in the wreckage
grey matter particulate wallpaper
iced steel toothpaste
my damage held no art.

A narcissist with a taste for pussy
turn your ass out
I'll ride yours
you ride mine
spit on your stomach
piss in my mouth.

Dark
under a lemongrass moon.

It's all there in the bottle
I would die if the sun slept in
and every day would melt into candlewax
the morning Raven nevermore.



































"When this is over
when this is under
a foot of water..."

I thought about it and it doesn't surprise me.

The twists and turns aren't news
you can't be that way and not see it coming
the world has a jealous hand.

But which way is better?

I have no opinion on the matter,
I was once so solid in my conviction
now it feels like ducking low hanging tree limbs
under the weight of the wet blanket air
on the same walk every afternoon.

We should accept our own hand in our dramas
our ideas are bigger than our realities
and we are people and
people are
small.

The best way seems to be,
to me,
to always know whatever it is will die,
that I
and you
and we all
will
die.

So love it while its there today
but come tomorrow
don't cry when you find its
gone.

Just one indulgence.

I lie with the curtains drawn in the afternoon
silent and dull,
devoid of music and
my soul as stiff as wood.

I tell myself it would be alright to endure it,
to let a little slip,
I can handle it
for a moment.

I start to think of Josh,
I see myself on the subway platform at five thirty in the morning,
I hear the soft breathing of a faceless newborn child;
the days without warmth,
nights without heat.

I recall Rian's deceiving eyes,
Taylor's espresso skin,
and remember the ubiquitous whiskey dawn
when Natalie's breasts
would rhythmically rise and fall
as she rode in ecstasy
on top of
me.

I opened my eyes and
nothing moved.

Nothing
made a
sound.

Outside my window
are sounds of what?
Endless marches to nowhere,
the unkempt captives of virulence.
All caged in while
the world reclaims its divine heritage
sighing relief and
laughing
last.

I am watching the passage of time
questioning everything up until now.
It all felt so serious
I smile at how naive.

I've gotten better if it helps you sleep at night
but you can stay where you are,
I let you down in a moment once
wrote the story and here we are.
I'll forgive the author on your behalf.

What matters at the end anyway?

Oh the hopeful currency of morning,
oh the evenings inside my mind,
such a blessed,
blessed time to be
alive.