Let's fire up that last joint 
in hopes of getting higher 
Boy, I hope you see the point 
the beauty in the fire 

Cigarettes and coke 
I think my mama thinks I'm broke 
I’m a juiced up ****** know it all
and I’ve never met a glass too tall

Afternoons on balconies 
Where the sun don't meet the streets 
It's me all all my phonies 
Just hitting sound repeats

Lately poetry has been
scraped off my consciousness
and smeared across the page
like a three year old
playing with watercolors
forcing shades together
that were never meant to be blended
in hopes of seeing some pattern
or understanding
in the blind expression

I thought,
“her nail polish is chipping”
that one I bought her
when we got lost in rite aid
and she stole a bottle of wine
and offered me my first line
in the back of Robby’s Volvo.
Her nail polish is chipping
and she’s digging the polish into my chest
I hear her breathing moisten
and I close my eyes to her light
as if it hurts to look at her straight.
No one has ever accused me
of being a man
so I sit back and let her lips
make me feel like one.

We got so caught up in antics
We forgot time for romantics
So caught up in tomorrow's jig
We forgot how the stars got so big.

So why don't we burn away the stress
and re-teach our hearts to fluoresce
With the friction of a constant embrace
I'll inhale your exhale, we can survive in space

Squiggee the doubt
stuck against my glass soul
like the insects on road trip windshields
at a gas station in Oklahoma

Smooth your iron hands
over my wrinkled thoughts
hang me up to dry
on telephone wires

Seep me in your tea pots
add sugar to my bitterness
let your tongue undo the knots
I tied like cherry stems

Catch me
like rain in the desert
cup me in your fleshy palms
and pour me down your throat
so I can cool your fireplace chest

Let me in
past the threshold of skin on skin
and I’ll hold the boy underneath
without the brushes of careful words
I’ll listen to your muted chords

I take glances
away from my existence
by pulling back to a distance
I can see the whole picture,
so I can touch the texture
of waxy goodbye petals
that rotted on my counter,
or melt the cool metal
of your tepid indifference
to me taking off to the city.

Your made up mind
about leaving any trace of us behind
because even if the stars aligned
for us to be together
you’d just feel confined
by me, wouldn’t you?

Mama once told me
if he loves you, he’ll wait
I know she was talking about ***
and I know we’re past ***
but isn’t this suppose to last?
Or are we as fated as a soggy cigarette
that has just another puff left
before it’s smothered against concrete
and left to itself in the street

pink roses
dragged themselves
from the linoleum floors
to die plastered against
the black cement of the driveway