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Shrug and go down my pants

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Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009
3:40 pm - Westernize (struck down.)
You're lying naked at your funeral
and I think,
This is why I haven't written in years.
My eyes feel like
they will never fully open
and she will dismount
and discount
every metaphor I mouth.

(make me understand)

Saturday, April 12th, 2008
6:16 pm - Six hours and then
Spring is perfect
for flashbacks, false names and deja vu.
A re-hash and undeniable rebirth
as I listen to the blackbirds cackle slow.

(Too slow.)

I want to cry
in the dark garage in the bright daylight
because things will never feel
like they used to.

(Much too slow.)

A pause
in my pace, as I walk myself home
seems too long,
and I do not think
the hosta came in so quickly last year.

(make me understand)

Tuesday, March 25th, 2008
9:27 pm - Spring 2007.
I am drowning in the aroma of curry and listening to the quarrelous SMACK
of hard vinyl vertical blinds.

It's never been this windy here.
Here in this hood that seems it should be a suburb, were it not within the city limits and only 3 or 4 blocks from the projects.

This is my home.
But the feeling to justify that statement still has not settled in my mind.

(make me understand)

Monday, March 24th, 2008
9:11 pm - A street named Spain and a mattress called Linda. 2006
You are sleeping in my bed.
On the side against that wall that always smells like you.
(I need to buy new sheets)
You are the dirty street boy I am shamefully in love with.

Sometimes I watch you.
Not for long, just a few simple seconds sweetened by your silence and slight smile.
We are confused.
We are confusing each other as we confuse ourselves.
We are our consequence and we are killing each others character.
Cautious conflict is our communion.
Take of my body, take of my blood...

You are sleeping in my bed on the side that stinks like you.

I wake up next to you and cannot revisit the realm of rest you are reveling in.
I cannot surrender to the severe desire to slide on these stained sheets and secure my body against yours.
I cannot put my arms around you.
I cannot bury my head into your back and try to slow and synchronize my breathing to yours.
I cannot press my lips to your skin to satisfy in the similar soft and smooth squish.
I cannot do anything when I notice the rise in your crusty cut off pants.

So I stand up. I sit on the floor.
I stare at your legs and can smell your soggy socks.
Somehow I savor the sour stink and delight in the dream of being able to remove them, my nails dragging down through the dense display of your leg hair and dancing delicately on your desperate feet.
And oh!
The hundreds of erections I would encounter if given the opportunity to wash those tormented toes.
It would be as delicate and devoted as Mary Magdalene cleansing the calloused Christ with her harlot head of hair.
Until you kick me in the teeth, put me in a headlock, and fuck my fucked up brains out.

(make me understand)

Monday, May 8th, 2006
6:03 am - In silver, I wait
I woke up
in the dark
I stood up just in time
to see you drive by.
Just like last night
only through a different window.
I did not return to my hateful slumber
I sat awake
hoping you would drive by
but this time stop
and knock at my door
so I can this time
torment myself
with the decision to open it or not
because today
just might be the day
that I get caught.

(make me understand)

Wednesday, November 10th, 2004
11:07 am - Once this dry October, the Mississppi rejoiced.
I looked into his blackhole eyes
and he said, "We'll let the rain
wash away the blood."
All he offers is rain and communion.
This is my blessing.
This is the denoument of my delight
because we all desire a downfall
and he has become my blasphemy.
I stare at his long pale hands
I listen to his affliction
and I feel his play on words
inside of me
"You know where."
My eyes communicate to the world
as I shift my seated position
from the sidewalk
to the street.

(make me understand)

11:04 am
I was in the bathroom. Crying and clawing at my skull with my dirty, chewed off fingernails. I was muttering to myself in a language that does not exist, staring at my reflection in the mirror then turning away in shame. Turning to face the mirror to my right. I was forcing myself to look at me. To watch the drugs drip out of my nose and into the stained sink. This is what I have become. I embraced madness, I took the money out of my wallet and bought hysteria. Paranoia. Uneasiness and bliss.

No one ever writes songs about methamphetamines.

(1 lie | make me understand)

Tuesday, July 13th, 2004
7:05 pm - I stole your white tee shirt.
I put your tee shirt
on my pillow
so I could inhale you
in my sleep

I put your tee shirt
on my pillow
so I could indirectly
soil you
so I could keep

your sweat on my skin
your filth on my face

a part of you
crushed by my weight
and properly
put in it's place.

(make me understand)

Tuesday, May 18th, 2004
12:01 am - mute the memory deluxe.
i remember speaking
i recall tequila dampened dawns
upstairs on decatur
where you listened
when my teeth
now you turn your head
as i open my mouth
and fall mute.

i remember making out
and making love
and making plans
now we just make excuses
as you circle me in circles
i want to cross your name off my wall
but i fall mute
like my mother
the day i told her "fuck you"
and then apologized
as i do now
when my hand grazes your flesh.

(make me understand)

Wednesday, April 7th, 2004
10:19 am
there really is no
other way to say this –
i am in love with you
and not even steve
perry could convince
me this is a bad idea –
somewhere in new orleans
a harlequin is trying
to smile through a painted
on frown – like the
red stain i wear on my sleeve
i’m drunk enough to
think i can sing like
ella, at this point –
being drunk on you
i think i could
dance like a cripple
in the bible, and
when you are in the
same room as me i’m
sure he is only pantomiming
that frown, deep in the french quarter.

(make me understand)

Thursday, April 1st, 2004
7:47 am
I wait hours for him to type “Hey baby.” I cannot stop shaking. I cannot shake the paranoia. I know something’s wrong and try to tell myself everything is fine. Nothing has changed. It’s all perfect. Rainbows. Puppy dogs.


I log in. 2 times every 5 minutes. I chain-smoke. 3 cigarettes every hour. At least. It’s ravaging my lungs. It’s eating me alive. And not in a good way. No new mail. Mail me! Eternally yours. Internally mine. Sweetness. Sweetness I was only joking. I was only hoping. I was only confused. Caffeinated. Castrated.

When you arrive early, you are on time. When you are on time, you are late. When you are late, you lose. I am early and everlastingly lost. You were my boogie-woogie barracks boy with black hair and black eyes. I was the joker, the smoker with a slicked back spring green and greed/grief in my lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Yeah.

Here to steer you in the right direction is my captain. My commander, my companion. The perpetual perpetrator. Directly to digital.

Hit me with your laser beams.

(make me understand)

Monday, March 8th, 2004
12:06 am - june 2003
This is what it feels like.
Walking from Chartres and Conti
to Dauphine and Desire.
Sometime after 10AM.
Thunder and rain.
This is desire.
This is a tan umbrella in my hand
[tan is my favorite color].
This is an extra large coffee.
This is communion.
People driving by slow down
to look at me
at my wet pants
sticking to my wet legs
in probably all the wrong places.
This is right.
[greet each new day with a growl]
I drew on my underwear last night.
He hates the word “cute”.
But somewhere I know he means it.
Somewhere I know he’s laughing.
Somewhere I know
this is what it feels like.
And this is what it is right now.

(make me understand)

Monday, December 15th, 2003
12:41 pm
i'm laying in your pile of clothes
thankful they're not mine
wishing i could smell this clean

i've been hearing your name for days
in the whispers that happen around me
in the hiss when the last song stops

i'm forcing myself not to tell you
i'm peeling the skin from my palms
i'm watching you pace
i'm watching your face
and wishing your arms weren't so long.

(make me understand)

Sunday, December 14th, 2003
8:57 pm - making moves [a tequila two step]
i heard my voice on the radio
screaming your name.
screaming injustice.

you're changing the station
turning the knob
pressing the SEEK button,
searching for static salvation
amidst the morons.

i'm choked by the smell of leather
in this louisiana winter
and she screams
and she screams
i'm a new wave soldier
and she's the black irish bad girl
who's missing from the scene
"and we danced."

i heard her voice on the radio
and she screams.
and she screams.

i'm changing the station,
turning the treble down
and she's the bass i left behind.

(2 lies | make me understand)

Thursday, December 11th, 2003
6:46 am
once i woke up in the night and saw you sleeping beside me. i could not fall asleep again, i thought that one day both of us would be dead. now you're gone and it doesn't make a difference.

(make me understand)

Wednesday, December 10th, 2003
3:15 am - "that was fucked up."
"in a good way."

i looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. makeup in the corners of my eyes. i spit into the sink. i squeezed some pale peach soap onto my hands and tried to wash them. wash them. like i tried to wash my tender spot. my boy hole.

"he wears his at night."

i looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. my eyes are red. my hair is blonde. my skin is golden. i have mascara all over my face and a drying layer of saliva on my neck and crotch.

"i'll cry for you."

i'll forget what i have done. what i wanted to do. what i should not have done. what i did. with what i do. what i do.

"they say vision."
"they say thank you."

(4 lies | make me understand)

Monday, August 4th, 2003
6:30 pm - document.
with full force
it was classified as an accident
as i fall to the floor
like mothers do
like motors do
i meant to say.

this is not going to make any sense.
and this is not going to hurt a bit
she tells me
as i fall to the floor
like rusted machinery
she tried to start me up.
step on the gas choke on the fumes

and ZOOM!
slow motion on camera one.
she tells a man
as he fast forwards with camera two.
as i fall to the floor
like junkies do
like lovers do
i meant to say.


(3 lies | make me understand)

Tuesday, July 15th, 2003
7:38 pm - deja vu. [3 years old]
"i see electric stars." he was lying. on his back. looking at the plastic trolls hanging on my ceiling. his legs were crossed and his sneakered foot was dancing up + down, making purple trails in the smoky air. i exhaled. my mouth tasted like old mouthwash. i prefer regular cigarettes to menthol.

"i once told this girl," he whispered, "that her eyes looked like marbles. you know, the ones with the paint or whatever in them that looks like frosting. when i was younger i used to think they were so pretty, and i really thought it was frosting. the expensive, sweet kind that they put on wedding cakes for the wealthy. they came in all different colors. i used to try and break them on the sidewalk just to get the frosting-like stuff out. it never worked."

he uncrossed his legs. i put my cigarette out on the wall. he was babbling about trees. i was not listening. all i heard him say was "awesome." i closed my eyes. he was staring at me. or at the me inside of my brain. the me that is never there. the me that creates the darkness he enters into. he was smiling.

"i remember in elementary school when we used to get those coniferous saplings every earth day. or arbor day. i always planted mine in the backyard + they died. my dad ran over them with the lawnmower. every time i asked him he'd say he didn't do it. in 6th grade he told me the truth. and that was of course my last year of elementary school. and one time in kindergarten, we were planting some kind of plant that kindergarteners plant, and the soil we used came in this wet, white, meshy stuff. it was so neat. and it smelled wonderous. i always think about the smell and it makes me terribly depressed because i can never place exactly what the smell was. and i don't know where to buy soil like that." he sat up. he was staring at me. he was smiling.

(make me understand)

Sunday, July 6th, 2003
10:17 pm - pattern [a projection.]
"love is precious..."
i whisper to myself

in his mirror
in his bathroom
i put his razor to my lips
i can hear Fairuza Balk saying

"punk rock!"
and i can smell his skin

and shaving cream
"...and life is long."

he doesn't know i am here

in his bathroom
in his mirror
because "giving up a ghost
would feel so good."

she sings
and he can feel my hands

and heat
and know i don't exist.

(make me understand)

Wednesday, July 2nd, 2003
12:15 pm
"break my ribs like you did the Berlin wall!"
she was intense. i had, in fact, been there. i was on a mission to pinpoint a german boy with quarter inch roots. i, as always, failed miserably and took my aggression out on a graffiti-covered brick barrier. i wasn't big on peace, but my therapist pretensiously labeled me as passive aggressive. he had a moustache.

instead of breaking her ribs i whipped out my sister's curling iron. she looked terrified. i plugged it in. she straightened her glasses. her freckles really accentuated her broad shoulders. she was aware. "my surroundings are like a syringe baby."

i'm sure she was quoting some obscure musical genius that no one pays attention to because he has a lazy eye. i gave up on the curling iron. it melted a gash in the wall-to-wall carpeting the newspaper ad so thoroughly bragged about. i unplugged it. she exhaled. i had visions of the Hindenberg and that special, new green ketchup. but it was a hypothetical vision. i have never had first hand contact with green ketchup. i pondered the intensity. "love or cunt?" she questioned.

maybe it was her mental health. i should refer her to my therapist. the one with the moustache.

(make me understand)

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