Lars lifts opens the toilet seat. The hinge squawks and he mimics the sound with his mouth. A dumb smile folds out on his face like someone unrolling a beach towel. He sits without dropping his pants or underwear. The cops are just about to leave through the screen door. Maggie offers a departing sacrament of right out of the oven of crispy flakey Pillsbury biscuits. They wave their hands parallel to the ground refusing. Maggie pulled the biscuits out too early. The bottoms are tan and dimensional but the tops are sloppy. They look like they have a glaze but they don’t have a glaze. They are pasty but still hot to the touch. The pan is hot. Maggie is wearing maroon oven mitts. One of the cops gets his foot snagged on the throw rug. They walk with their heads down but don’t notice the curled edges of the throw rug. They notice a black pug named Roger instead and nearly avoid fumbling over him. The cops scatter outside quickly like ducklings crossing the street. Lars’ dumb smile lingers and he laughs with a shushing lisp. He reaches between his legs into the toilet bowl. His hand disturbs the water. His nose is bleeding. Maggie closes the doorwall after the cops leave. The cops left the screen open. Maggie reopens the doorwall, closes the screen, shakes her head, and then closes the doorwall again. The kitchen is humming with improper wires. The light is electric pastel blue. The linoleum is too ***** to sleep on. Maggie’s ******* can be seen through her shirt. Lars wipes his nose with his arm and shoulder. He is hunched digging into the toilet bowl. He pulls out a baggie with a twist tie on top. The baggie looks reused. Maggie enters under the frame of the door and her lips roll out like a beach towel. The ******* in the baggie is very very dry.

Who else felt the night coming off the tracks,
When we first stepped into that crowded, 1 bedroom apartment,
For the 21st birthday of a guy we knew (his friends, we didn't)?

Strangers derailed and built up drunken tension.
That settled once he found the smoke,
You found the beer,
And I brought the ***.

I know my regrets.
But do you still enjoy the white line you crossed...
Off the counter top,
Before we left for IHop?

You hit me, held my hand, and made me promise in the stall,
(where I held your hair just last week)
That I won't tell.

I won't.

We loaded up in the car to go back,
But got stopped along the way.

Two pipes, one baggie, and an open container later...
Maybe birthday boy became a man,
Sometime between when he got cuffed...
And when he apologized.

Was it just me or....
Were the State Troopers cutest when they lined us girls up,
Looked at us,
And let us go?


Just in time for Mother's Day.

It twas a chunk.
A bootleg papertowel, ziplock baggie, hairband combo
Allowed me to continue
Cutting and subsequently cooking
Perseverance? Check.
Being a bad *****? Check.
Maintaining a sense of humor while I'm gushing blood? Check.
Jamming 90s alternative rock with my nineteen year old brother? Check.

No ******* this time though..
He wouldn't allow such.

remember the melding
of gilmore and bing
the springfield gates
and desmond ring

remember the trojans
and fools in the pack
sea fair jeans
and corkscrew flat

remember the cabin
and *****’s garage
the gary point dunes
and moncton mirage

remember the warehouse
the water logged seats
tin foil caps
and simple retreats

remember the cave
and turn on the cut
emery’s mini
and hamilton’s hut

remember the burger
and shake in the air
bubs in the back
with little despair

remember the valley
and 66 ford
burgundy lips
and samworth’s chord

remember the plainsman
a 7 inch log
the ***** old frenchmen
and bore-*** hog

remember the javelin
and mushay’s wheels
beaumont’s baggie
and jennifer beals

remember tough charlie
tossing brad rand
the belyae roundhouse
and beer in the sand

remember park polo
and scaling of firs
sleeping in rafters
at 8 bucks per

remember the mayflower
and brothers von grant
the max air follies
and chivalrous rant

remember the flipper
the floyd and the clap
banana boat sunday
and pemberton trap

remember the purples
the rasp in the street
the oliver jokers
and shady retreat

remember the gators
and brick house café
a flash in the pan
and crib cult stay

remember the church
and talbs on the bridge
goofy’s memoirs
and cypress ridge

remember smaldino
whom perry cut short
***** and a ****
and moria’s port

remember the zuker
and gilligan’s isle
the pep chew bust
and 8 tooth smile

remember the action
at blundell and one
the nauseous fumes
and pump house run

remember the canyon
and rock on the cliff
a tourniquet bind
that kept us adrift

remember lake skaha
and jvc tunes
the j bain query
and peach fest goons

remember the irons
and broad entry beads
the alexander boys
we must pay heed

remember the gates
the 12 hole stare
the hospital bed
and ky affair

remember the farmhouse
an open air deck
the john deere tractor
and cowboy neck

remember the wheat field
and jimmy crack corn
the burlington plaza
and fraser street ****

remember the pincers
and wee ***** white
the concubine fractures
and strong overbite

remember the carving
portrayed at the scene
the billy goat battles
a young man’s dream

remember lord brezhnev
and moby the ****
the second beach sun
and paper bag trick

remember the screening
the silver light show
banshee boots
and phipps’s throw

remember the epic
and baby oil block
trash can brassieres
and window rock

remember the law
jack rabbit in may
an 8 track mix
on alpine way

remember the dunes
a pig on the spit
the underarm hair
and corn bull-****

remember old frankie
and bursey head post
the koa leaves
and tiki shore host

remember b taupin
the lyrics he left
cold muddy waters
an odd treble clef

remember street regent
the trips in the night
the trailer park cap
and lightheart fight

remember kits causeway
mortimer and beaks
jk's cabin
and muscle bound freaks

remember glen cheesy
and billy the less
the frozen puke patties
and borkum mess

remember the catfish
and pickerel rock
the emerald meadows
and rainbow dock

remember port dover
with fish on a stick
wayne in a bunker
holding his ****

remember the ironside
limes in a tree
the usc campus
came with a fee

remember the duster
an arrow in heart
the frog man bug
that would not start

remember the zimmer
the ram air hood
a family wagon
with panels of wood

remember peace portal
the 33 back
the power built drive
and dangerous tack

remember the reds
the blues and the greens
the furry point island
and country book scene

remember the springs
and i 95
a lone state trooper
with blood in his eye

remember may’s cabin
and stuff in between
the frame and the picture
and morning snow scene

remember the boss
with a 302 scoop
the diamond tuft console
and back seat coupe

remember ioco
the **** and the spit
the skid road race
and hurst floor kit

remember the shore
and tents in the park
a campfire roast
and kerosene bark

remember the hooger’s
kit kat club
the colvin’s and setter’s
a man called bub

remember the creature
with silk strand hair
and afternoon flask
with little despair

remember quilchena
and robbie the mac
the rice stead box
and tap on the back

remember miss williams
a pilgrim’s salute
the fairmont sister
with all of her loot

remember port ludlow
a scotman on dock
the everett street bridge
and single leg sock

remember the masters
and all of the roar
the faldo follies
at norman’s door

remember jeff samson
tied in a tree
the robertson fastback
with white leather seats

remember the balance
and pulling of 4's
the moncton warehouse
and hollywood ******

remember the hospice
with carter in wear
the power of gospel
and magic in prayer

remember the mini
counting the crows
aberdeen villa
where all of it grows

remember the ballroom
the battle of bands
the buccaneer bikers
and front row stands

remember the steely
and 50 odd pulls
the crook in the cranny
and pilsner bulls

remember the mustang
tb paul
the ****** shack sergeant
was missing a ball

remember dear kevin
head first in the pool
a sheik in a minefield
and ****** gas fool

remember the rumble
and bats in the night
an old lady screaming
to a young man’s delight

remember cliff olsen
that sick little ****
who will be in shackles
on lucifer’s truck

remember the bumpers
and cutting in line
the mice on the ****
and bo in the pine

remember the law
stabbing the corn
a bucket of ammo
and mekong horn

remember s boras
the piercing of yes
the color line paper
sikosie at rest

remember the pinto
and seven road plants
mother’s fine pizza
a trial lawyer’s rant

remember the kennedys
with ***** painted black
a pond in the shadows
where monty looked back

remember von husen
the sea to sky test
a farm hands daughter
was one of the best

remember mr pither
and mao sae tung
helena the cougar
and egg foo young

remember the cinder
and frances road bake
***** the whitehead
would make no mistake

remember the quan
and mental mix
the java hut sister
with pixy sticks

remember j rosie
banging his head
in a moment of dr
we thought he was dead

remember the hammer
discussions caught short
siddrich and roger
and monty’s abort

remember 6 nations
and KOA
the pool hall fight
when everyone stayed

remember the skinners
and tommy the med
the lost tough china
and bubs in the shed

remember the doobies
zeppelin and cars
floyd and the *****
and shankar’s sitar

remember old dustys
the blue and red chair
the cypress hill caves
and mullet cut hair

remember the promise
and vows that we made
on the 2 road stairs
in goodman’s brigade

remember those moments
and handle with care
for the garamond stamp
will always be there…

I'm taking my life. to the pawnshop on a dusty summer-fall morning
     Because at this point I'm not sure what to use it for anymore
               And they'll give me cash for trash
   Like a mountain of crushed cans in exchange for a dream money can buy in a clear plastic baggie

There's half a sandwich in my baggie,
I run with it around the playground and
I'm getting weird looks because..
I'm 23
and somehow I find it much more amusing than nerve wracking
because when I wrack my brain to find answers
all I can think about is running around
my old elementary school play ground.
Maybe just maybe that's why I laugh like santa who had just finished
his rounds for he year and
maybe I laugh like a man that just won a billion dollars,
because I know when I go back to work the next day
I know I cannot laugh this loud
so loud I shed tears of joy, no
when I go back I will shed tears of boredom if there is such a thing.
Sitting at a desk is killing me, but I guess in the end
I've been dying all along.
"Sit quietly at your desk until the bell rings"
"Ask before you use the restroom"
"Finish every thing on your recycled tray"
Well let me tell you there are none such rules on the play ground
I can run and scream, and
I can finish the other half of this sandwich
when I **** well want to.

Those little white lines seem to erase every little problem, don't they?  But be careful, dear, you can only run for so long before everything comes catching back up to you. It'll hit you square in the face, leave you with a black eye for a week. Don't let it get that far. Put down the little baggie, put away the credit card, you're better than that.

I met Sally on the hill with a nickel bag of ******.
      She didn't pay me in money.
Instead, information and a little persuasion made the baggie leave my right back pack pocket
     “Dollars could never have made sense of it anyway
          We throw pennies away opting for the opulence that big bills entail
   Retail will never amount to the amount I've blown on blow”
    Or so she said behind Louis Vuitton shades shielding eyes half dead
           A ****** with a monkey on her back fed by a steady stream of opiates
       “I open this line of communication so you can see we lack foundation and stability and yet
      We're trying to build a sand castle with all the powder we can possibly get
And if we're forced to forfeit that fortress, we snort more, still trying to forget” and with that she placed her sunglasses on top of her head

     I stood back with my back pack and I finally understood
                               Why drugs will make you richer than working ever could
                   They bag a gram put it on the scale and tell you what it weighs
      But they don't tell you how unnoticeable it is when your life slips away

         We sell the dream, we sell the aesthetics
    The drugs, the parties, the scene with guest lists
     Invincibility
        Pretty lights.
                Fun. All a lie.

*I almost fell on my face walking down the hill, staring into those blue eyes over my shoulder all the while.

screaming and crying, not on the outside but soon
I found it dad
I found your baggie of ****
the SF muni rolls past Mariposa St
I did not want to believe it
when I saw the make shift bongs
not ****, bongs
how many of the ******* things do you need

I know it’s big in the gay scene to smoke **** before ***
but I thought you could find other ways to enjoy yourself
did your new boyfriend wean you on to it
I’ll ******* **** him
lock me up, I have always wondered if I would like solitary

you brought the make shift glass pieces to thanksgiving
you don’t even live with us anymore
but you brought it anyway
the SF muni scoots past Wawona St
guess you needed your fix
guess your kids, the genetic bits of yourself, were not  entertaining enough

I could always think
naw, I bet he is smoking hash out of those
but then I found the baggie today
in a long rectangular bag I found the shards
I cried in horror
there was room for more than 10 grams of **** in there

so now I’m on the bus headed home
I run from the bus stop all the way home
all out sprint, hoping to run myself docile
It does not work

I get to the house and find a hammer
I decide to unload my anger on an old wooden door laying on the side of the house
I get a few good swings in before the hammer head breaks off, flying across the back yard
I’m not calm yet
I get to our garage door
and I snap

I see red, I scream my throat raw and I kick our garage door
I do not expect it to cave’
but it does
I feel the weight giving out against the sole of my boot
for the first time today, I am winning at something

I kick
I see my father
I kick some more
I see my father’s addiction personified beneath my boot
It’s face miming the expression, ‘Sorry, not sorry’

I give it one final kick and inspect my handiwork
I’ll have to come back out with a different hammer to fix the door before my mom comes back home from work
****
I thought I was a calmer person than this
I go upstairs and pass out
I want you to see my grandkids, dad
you won’t be able to while on that ****
I walk by or open my garage every day
every day I think about how such a beautiful man could come to a place where **** is the answer

you can jump from
swing to swing
when you know the
safety net is there
all bottled up
in highways and
happy hours
long drives through
painted lines
and exit signs
long nights spent
swinging out
as far as you can
above that safety net
picking poison
from a stainless
steel spoon
and long mornings
spent picking up the
shards of a life
that longed to be
left behind
on the road
mile markers like handholds
climbing you farther and
farther up the mountain
closed eyes keep you far from home
rolled back in escape
those painted lines
those six lanes
seventy five miles
an hour toward everything
another spoonful
another baggie
another mile
keep me from thinking
keep me from feeling
keep me from the truth
all these safety nets
saving me from myself
another night
another fight
working futiliy to
keep that hand
tighter and tighter
around my throat

After a neat little bite
She slid his sandwich into its baggie
And smiled,
Never tiring of her little joke.

“See, it’s alright. Im here with you, having a little fun!”

After the bell he peered into the bag.
And there it was
And a note:
“I love you, Aaron. “

This morning’s mixture of boredom and fear punctuated by her love

Then he daydreamed of helping with the clothespins,

Sheets snapping in the wind

Your drugs come in a plastic baggie inhaled through your nose,
I inhale the scent of your skin looking at you i froze,

My parents warned me about you, a bad boy with good lips,
Overdosing on your mystery your mind concealed like a solar eclipse,

Puffing on a beneficial herb that makes you sleep at night,
Who'd of known i could become high from you; a tragically damaged delight.

And so as a man, a job,
a cactus wearing a business suit sharing relations with the hydrant down the street.

A ***** strapped to a baby carriage with plastic baggie cellphones
yelling "run away now"
to the grass at his feet.
A man devoid of water, rather.

These are the times

A well, emptied.

Rather death
find waves of spilled milk and
all the fat people, skinny.

A dry mouth desert, kneeling
In either breath of a living feeling
or the one that talks of so much
for only the wealth of his screaming.

Some tiny furniture talked all night about running through wheat,
ebbing and flowing against the end tables,
then falling short as crumbling tree leaves.
An ottoman as recycle bin holding stem
from stem of watermelon children
and vine-ripened acetaminophen.

Some odd truth told the blowing wind that
God does cartwheels with Lucifer at random.
It then billowed out about
his ***** underwear and holy fodder for memorandum.  

I would say a man, a vision,
A little girl using a GPS to calculate the distance from the rest her teething.
Instead, she found a funny barbeque ***** playing hog-tied pharmaceutical reps into neoprene
mud-flapping pigeons.

I would say the sinking plastic six-pack islands revealing trash limbs,
sunken,
honest,
grim.

Life, itself, must move in tandem to only fleeting geese.
Though in plan, the artisan-picking fruit of word must be depicted.
Live in sin and ignorance much like the
breaking news walking on broken record.
And so as a man; a fear.
He looked down, staring at no one
with bare feet and shaken, coconut flavored palm trees.

An instant such as that, god only knows how much it had hurt. I resolved on a plan, a terrible, disgusting plan. One that required me to push away my conscience and semblance of self entirely.

A plan which left me ultimately heartless.

Oliver Starkweather, the only boy in the world. He had taken the part of me which made me more vulnerable to him than anyone else. Not only that, he was the only person I felt that I truly cared about, the only person, family included, that I could even begin to imagine using the word love on. The only entity that could ever hurt me. And that realization tied me to him forever.

Yet, that made me weak when I wanted to be strong, controlled when I wanted to control.

I had discovered a secret in a week that Oliver hadn’t in a year. His father; rich, generous, and virtually absent from his life, had a small additional house built on their property. Something he’d told me once was, “My dad works in sales.” At night when I couldn’t sleep, I took to exploring their big empty house. One week into my stay, I dared to venture out into the newer one. It was there that I discovered the bookcase. It appeared normal, every book on the shelf was dusty and ridiculously boring looking. The rest of the room had similar bookshelves with similar looking books, but they were mixed in with vibrant titles and a more alluring collection. From there, I began taking down books off of the shelf and flipping through them. The majority were as boring inside as they were out, but the fifth one I collected - which came from the top right corner - turned me whole perception upside down.

Being a morbid little girl, I had always been fascinated with taboos. I would sneak into my dad’s office at night and search words on his computer. Words like gore or ******* or drugs. When I opened that book I knew instantly, even at fourteen, that a book with all the inside pages cut out and baggie after baggie of white powder inside meant trouble. On the shelf, I found three more secret stashes. After that I’d seen enough.



    When the autopsy was performed, the results read drug overdose. My tracks were well covered, for Oliver’s dad assumed Oliver had been secretly dipping into his bookshelf. Dealing was a felony that Mr. Starkweather was not about to risk, so he confessed that Oliver had been struggling with a drug problem. Sweet, demure, heartbroken me was sent back home, and years of therapy brainwashed me into so much denial that I was able to bottle up the entire story and force myself to forget. Deep down, I’d always known, but my mental unrest defied that.

Consequently, he returned. Maybe karma drove me crazy, maybe it was guilt.

But more than anything, it was probably loneliness.

Who knew the sky tasted so Sour? Bitter?
Words can never describe, as soon as I feel my adjectives grasp

the flavor on the tip of my tongue, it dissolves, escapes into my body.
I think of ****'s sweeter psychedelic cousin invading my veins,

putting thumping jumping beats and tapping feet in my brain cells.

The frigid February air invites pleasant shivers all over my body

climbing up and up and up my spinal cord, driving me wild. Am I wild?
I feel beautiful, I feel perfect and I want the world to know.
People stare, I wave. They reply with expressions that make me 

practically roll on the floor laughing. Am I scaring you tonight?
My head is roaring, my skin feels hot and as I fall into a backseat

I think, I feel it. I feel so good, so good. What better way to go but Up?
So I rip open a baggie and pour another hit into eager lips.

We walk in, and we are It. We are what everyone wants to be,

living on a steady diet of rails, hits and clouds of smoke,
and
shot after shot after shot, hold the chaser. 

We are a hot mess of bones, skin, hips and teeth. 

And then the DJ drops the beat and we transform.

Mt. Mt. Mt. We move, one body flowing into another.

We dance hotter, closer, faster, smoother,

bodies rolling effortlessly, melting into one another,

a collection of spidery neurons lapping up every sensation joyously.

Bones moan, trapped in the ecstasy, and then

I'm dancing with you, I'm rolling with you, I'm feeling so fully with you.

My shirt clings to slick skin as my hips fit so perfectly into yours.

I feel the energy coursing between, swear I can even see it through all the

dazzling colored lights slicing through the air. And you must see it too,

because then your lips are on mine and we are clinging and kissing and 

eating each other's passion, tongue on tongue, licking the salt off

each other's faces. I'm drenched and my soul's inflamed and so completely turned on

and you ask me if I want another hit of molly. I say absolutely.



You take out a key and a bag of sparkly white powder, balance it so perfectly,

offer it to fervent sinuses, and I breathe it in graciously. I feel myself come to life.

You smile and you grab me, claim me, and then your hands are on me.

Hot, smooth, wet, I can feel my euphoria fill me and spill out of me, 

offer it to the world around me. And then we are together again, and you say

Show Her You Love Her. And I do. I press my lips against hers, open my mouth,

offer her the flawless exhilaration consuming my anatomy, and she accepts.

Then you join in, three persons lulling in this incredible feeling, 

tongues and bodies moving together, dissolving into each other, until 

it’s impossible to decipher where one begins and one ends. 

And the music is blaring and we're jumping and thrusting our hands to the ceiling,

thinking we could really touch the sky from all the way Up Here.  

I grab you, pull you in toward me, squeeze you, hard and you groan,

head falling off your body. You pick me up and spin me around and around, I laugh

and wrap my legs around your waist, ride you like a riptide, wave after wave of desire

moving my body, moving through my body, moving in my body. And then your lips

are pressed so close to my ear, teasing me with thin wisps of I Love You, I Want You,

Give Me All Of You Tonight. And I push against you, fall into you, and then


I Wake Up. Drained, wasted, spent, brain throbbing against my skull.

Sprawled in my bed, sweating out toxins that loved me so well the night before.

Betrayed, falling into depression, body aching inside and out, I shut my eyes,

try to concentrate on not throwing up, and I feel you. You're lying next to me,

and When Did You Get Here? What Did We Do? You smile and ask if I'm up for

round two. No, Get Out, Can't You See I'm Hurting? So you take out some sweet

California green and a piece, pack it tight. Light it up, rip it hard, offer me the bowl.

I do the same, feel a little better, but not. Not the same,

I still make you leave when it's kicked. Lying there, dropping lower and lower

as minutes tick by so slowly, I try to embrace the purple haze enveloping me.

But all I really want is some water and some ecstasy.

escorting you through the back alleys of Asia,
well it's kinda like
strutting into an interview drunk.
It's kinda like walking through airport security
with a baggie full of illicits in pocket 4
or is it pocket 5?

Hearing you speak Korean
with a shaking head
and a firm hand on my inner thigh,
well it's kinda like
asking a stranger to pay for my drinks.

Treating you to dinner and pitchers
when your heart's fighting your brain,
well it's kinda like
reassuring a child on his birthday
that he's getting presents later in the week.

And so receiving your words in the morning,
well it's kinda like
getting a kiss on a swollen cheek
right beneath a fresh black eye.

It's all kinda like it's dangerous
but I think I'm doin' an OK job
at acting like I know what I'm doin'.

Although
I don’t remember specifics
I believe I had some leftover shake
I don’t remember any clear plastic baggie
nor how much was in it
(******* worth?)
But at the time
I had been doing a good deal of baking
Savory tortes
Fluffy quiches
Cookies always
And so I made a batch of brownies
Dark and Chewy?
That I’d like to think but I don’t remember
What I do know is that I tried them
and decided that
I wouldn’t share
Not really
They were that good
A dreamy sweet high
Really nice
Lovely in fact
But eventually
I softened and wrapped up maybe
Two
And took them to Venice

I don’t remember who got the first one
but I gave the second
to an inveterate ‘head’
****** since birth
most likely
I thought out of everyone
she would appreciate it the most
A connoisseuse
And I waited for her critique
I might add that although is seemed irrelevant
To me
she was what they refer to as
Rock-and-Roll Royalty
‘so-called’
and her then Fuckbuddy Roommate was
an Actor (aspiring)

The critique came sure enough
But not what I had expected
as
She didn’t eat it
But gave it in turn to him, the Fuckbuddy
Passing it along
To curry favor
To advance in the entanglement
To keep him interested and provided for
-i got you baby-
And not to make
too strong a point
but I didn’t much like the guy

It would have been a sad enough fate
for the Little *** Brownie
If it had ended there
but the Fuckbuddy
brought it along to a meeting
To a casual tête-a-tête with
A Major Hollywood Film Director
Huge, at the time
An auteur
Of course
You know his Work
He’ll be considered iconic
at some point
If not already
And the Little *** Brownie was passed along again
To curry favor
To create a connection
To cast the glow of good fellowship and commiseration
The wink
The nod
But this time it was eaten
And afterwards the
Major Hollywood Film Director
I was told
made a personal phone call
To let the Fuckbuddy know
About upcoming projects
Most likely those that
would never include him
And to state:
‘by the way, that brownie you gave me...
It Wasn’t Any Good.’

In turn
The Fuckbuddy (who scored a major TV role without a brownie and subsequently dumped her)
let Royalty know too
And she,
in turn
Rolled it back to me
So the moral of the story is:
Be Mindful With Whom You Share Your Gifts

We went out to dinner and you ordered my favorite
when it came, we switched plates
because you knew I’d change my mind.

We walked into your friends house looking for some beer
instead they pulled out a sweet little baggie
filled with don’t-say-it-out-loud-named drugs.
Everyone gets big stupid smiles watching Rodger
cut it in lines on the table.

I’m trying to tell you with my eyes that my heart is beating faster
than it’s supposed to
that I am in no way comfortable here
please please take me home *******
and you told my eyes out loud,
“Yeah but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

(Full blown panic attack. It’s what you do to me
baby.)

Leaning over the table like you’re about to get ******
(that was mean, but I am mad),
inhale deeply through that roll of paper.
I’m watching you sourly from the couch
whispered into your ear
“when you come down, you’re taking me the **** home”
(this entire poem goes in The Swear Jar)
instead we had makeup *** upstairs and
I flirted with all your friends.

I guess it got later. The party started going,
some Taylor kid’s speaking in my ear
“That boyfriend of yours, does he love you?”
“Not at all” (I’m a flirt but at least I am honest)
Told me to call him when I shake off the loser.

How can I shake off this loser?
How could I give away the boy (man?) who orders
my broccoli cheddar soup
so we can switch bowls
after my disillusioned moment
of chicken noodle wanting.
He carried me to bed again, and held me when I woke up
crying.
We listen to Neil Young in the car on our way out to the woods
he said
“What a sad man…his Mimi went away.”
running his hands through my hair.

This is my excuse:
you don’t know a person, until
you have gone through their medicine cabinet.
They say.
Mine have prescriptions
You’ve had to find yours yourself
to find yourself.  But now I think
it’s time to grow up, or die real young.
It’s not my problem.
I think I maybe should stop it with this
problem.

Numb nostrils,
jittery tongues,
swarming the cutting board.
Sharks, whose blood lust
shot off the charts
with the sight of one little baggie,
gnash their teeth
"Pour it out! Line it up!"
"Here's yours!"
"I can't feel my teeth!"
all caught on the reef
thrashing for another dose.
Who am I to judge with this
white gold
in my nose.

Baggie, tin foil, pizza box that entered much too soon before I had the chance to read the baking instructions.
Tissues, red bull cans, graded busy work that earned it's keep after a professor marked it with a big red "X."
Mummified tea bags drained of every last living drop, miniature candy bar  wrappers, a dumb drawing of a cow dressed as Spider-man.
Guitar strings, chewed gum, a news article about the house I burned down.
Love notes, crumpled paper cups, and a used band-aid.