Forgotten Popsicle stick
Dominates in ashtray.
He broke it in half once
But it's been there a while.

He remembered.
Spending summer night.
Outside-
While his dad
Smoked in chains;
Wisps dusting
Humid air.

They just talked.
Cigarettes devoured,
Popsicles slurped
And bitten,
Even as sensitive
Teeth screamed,
Each left
Distinct tastes on the lips.

The ashtray began to crowd,
Butts piled high.
But he'd found a perch
For Popsicle stick
Stained blue.

But then his dad moved out.
And Popsicles
Soon turned to cigarettes,
That lone stick
Being one of the last.
Eventually he dumped the tray,
To get rid of his dad and
Make room for his own addiction.

I wanted my life to be a poem.
That's what all of this is.
I date you
Because you fit into poetry
The way dark things do.
And you make me happy
But the truth is
I'd love you if you were only
A sad poem.

Cigarettes capture
My attention
Because they're poetic.
Poets smoke.
A cigarette fits in poems
Like writers pen in palm.

I listen to music
For the lyrics
Which speak to me
In the way I like
To speak.
For the drums
That now only mean you.
For the guitar
In the closet
I take out
On occasion.
For the rhythm
That makes my pen dance
When it would rather sleep.

I have the poem in my head
And I guess I'm writing it.
But you're writing it too.
So is she.
And him.
Mostly me.
But the cigarettes
Write too.
Disappearing through
Your lips--
Ash appearing on the page.

The scene advanced,
The song started,
And lapsed
Into my psyche
Chords hitting nerves
I'd thought were wasted
And lost
Because I'd left them
Wandering through a maze
Of things
That had messed with them too much
But the song
Was subtle enough
To teach them to feel again
In the way they're supposed to.

Things grew dry
Desert ensued
And I wanted an oasis,
Pleasure of sitting
By a pool
In the arid air.
It was comfortable enough
To keep on,
Legs in rhythm
But
The exhausting heat
And friction
Between
Became too much and
You stopped to rest.
And soon blood lept
From my body
And muscles felt sore.
I collapsed in the sand.
And you hugged me anyway.

Maybe my writing
Will improve
When strewn over
Blue lined graph paper,
Tiny boxes,
Coaxing out order,
Perhaps even
Clarifying boundaries
Between crazed truth,
And detrimental lies.

The grid putting
Poem in context,
Poem like graph,
Displaying
Levels of THC
Depression
Number of Kisses
Tears Cried
Outliers of secrets uttered.
Box and whisker plot
Displaying anxiety,
Skewed data toward extremes.

No.
Linear writing would
Reveal the chaos inside.
I can't fit the poems
To the squares.
A graph can't really cry
The way a person can.
There's a losing feeling
Etched in pen
On a harshly graded
Parcel of mathematical quizzing
That a poem has no place to
Instill in me.

And no one would
Be able to read my work
The way they tell you to show it.
My poems have no color coding.
Definition between data
Becomes hazy as
Layers of black are added
In empty,
All encompassing anger.
And I smoke while I write tonight,
Haze growing,
Lines wobbled,
And I may have put a poem
On a piece of graph paper
But it's nothing like the math homework
That stays in my backpack.

I ate your thoughts
So you wouldn't have to think them.
Consumed them,
Through gaping ear
While you spoke,
The cavernous listening space grew full.
And still I listened
To those tormenting illusions
As they came spilling from your mind.

I ate your kisses,
So they'd have somewhere to go.
Ate them,
Tasted them,
Swallowed them
And wanted more.
You had kisses to give
And so did I,
But mostly I took yours,
Silencing your mouth
To let my ears recover
From devouring.

I ate your heart,
As it beat,
You broke off pieces
And I chewed
Delicately so as
Not to break you.
You served them to me-
Impaled on the fork
But I rescued them,
By taking them
Down the throat.

I gorged on your movements-
Feasting my eyes,
When you walked and sat
And did normal tasks.
And you especially filled me up
When you came closer.

I ate all of you up,
Because there was so much
To scarf down,
In the night when you couldn't sleep.
Because you couldn't stomach yourself.
And I am left,
In love
With an upset stomach.

Flowers glowed-
Juxtaposed behind
Glowing end of cigarette.
They glowed with vibrance,
The cigarette looked dead.
The holder looked
Somewhere in between.
Bland slated eyes
Livened with churning nicotine,
Heart speeding
In context of
Present company.
He held the cigarette
Delicately,
A union
With lips
Leaving chills
To smolder up from her feet and
Out from spine.
The air was cold
But she looked at the smoke
Knowing the heat
In his body was close
Enough
To fable heat in her own body
And test morals.
She was watching his lips too much
And broke her gaze away,
Directing eyes
To watch the flowers.
They angered in red,
Disappointed they hadn't
Held her eyes completely.
But she massaged their petals,
Scrutiny turning up satisfied
As it danced along the lines.
His smoke hazed the lines and she couldn't help but look back
At his eyes,
His mouth,
And listened still
As he murmured words
That hardly glowed at all.