"I have lived so many lives. I have died so many times. I have been born over, and over and over again. I don’t know when the circle becomes a spiral. I don’t know if the spiral ends. At some point, there is a light, and after that there is another. And in between there is everything.
And afterwards, there is everything.”
She is the waitress of the fun house, mirrored walls reflecting millions of her, tray in tray in tray in hand. Percocet’s in her pocket rattle like the loose teeth of her children that she once quietly pulled from beneath flat pillows after weeks of anticipation. She sets down hashbrowns, swimming in the excess grease from the griddle, and her matronly how-are-yous bounce of the windows, off the halogen lights, and into our ears, our ear, our ears. Her apron, like the off whites of her eyes, falling gently over the pale blue dress that they all wear, is stained with ketchup. A dull red spot by her left hip. Her soft but firm voice, the kind all mothers have, slips out from between chapped lips as she places our order on the table. Brian, sitting behind a pair of black designer glasses leaning his scruffy chin over a cup of black coffee, starring out at the world with black pupils standing in stark contrast to his pale white tattooed skin, asks her honestly how she is doing. And again the voice of all our mothers in some alternate reality slips past yellowing teeth and into the open air, mingling with the scent of fried potatoes and bacon grease. Her roommates caught her nickin’ pills again, and they’ll have her on the street in two weeks time. Her children have long since severed ties, this is what she says as she tops off the coffee. Brian listens until she runs back, behind the brown swinging door with window caked in years of shitty fried food and countless skin cells from who knows how many waitresses. He says that there are certain French philosophers that believe the reasons why you are doing something are more important than the thing you’re actually doing. We tip the waitress extra for her time and honesty, all the while knowing that it will end up caked inside her nose, dripping gently down the back of her throat.
And the sun light coagulated amidst the clouds, diffusing into a bruise radiating grapefruit-light onto a perfectly dark blue sky.
And the air conditioning hum-hum-hummmmms
in the cabin, and the baby cry-cry-cries and someday he
will be like his father. And the l a s t r a y s will shoot through
his eyes, piercing mucus member and cornia.
Shattered light, void within sockets and a blankness turning madness.
But its just a plane, and I’m only cold and restless watching the sunset high above fly-over-country.
Anonymous asked: fuck you're sexy
c’mere, i wanna wink at ya
A poet friend deftly handles a well articulated anonymous query
I skipped class to go to the courthouse, and in the wake
of my arraignment
Nicholas handed me a beer,
cold and sweating in the spring sun,
the walls of his house were
s p a r s e
only decorated by the occasional splash of
tomato sauce, flung from a fork in a moment of drunken revelry
and the bottles stacked above the television set.
Open windows face the street where the cyclists spin by
and in the winter, friends will make snow angels before they turn to grey matter
melting off towards the storm drains.
Staring towards the familiar street I sipped the beer
watching sparrows picking at the bones of a dead squirrel, dropping feathers
on hot pavement.
You took me in when I was at my worst
shaking mad, vomiting between drags of cigarettes
You chopped green onions on a filthy counter and fed me
beans while the cat licked at my boots. Your eyes were
hot like the tip of your cigarette, shining out from behind
a beard and black curls tucked under an old dirty cap.
You fed me
on Fridays after work, and gave me a beer
and put your arm around my shoulder when
everything went cold.
I’ll expect payment in the mail
and by that i mean i’ll sleep on your couch this winter if you’ll let me
and ask for a free sandwich while your cleaning the counters of the coffee shop downtown
and ask that you not ask too many questions or get too mad when a lover that we shared
walks through the door and talks to me while I’m making poor decisions
You’ll tolerate me like you always do and laugh with me when I realize I’m drinking too much
like you always do
and you’ll suggest that I switch to decaf while steam from the coffee swirls towards my nose
And I’ll try not to abuse your understanding
There is a very large man standing outside of my window
His face is round and he wears thin white beard
he cannot stop sneezing and there is a car passing down the street
It begins to rain
He is still standing there
outside my window and he cannot stop sneezing
looking in at my lamp in between head jerks and inhales