she died with the door open next to a vase of uncut flowers and a bottle of wine she died in the hallway with the faces of her loved ones standing watch within picture frames and knick-knacks, faces floating in brass boxes her godchildren had given her. she died with a letter in her left hand sealed, stamped, and seventeen steps from her mailbox she died with the door open and four days later Jim came by to say sorry sorry that he was gone for so long and he brought her a candle, that smelled like almonds for them to burn. she died in the hallway, between two places, two rooms she lived in she died facing up, eyes on the sky and the mailman said, to the cameras when he found her, that she was wearing a new, blue dress and she died with the tags still attached that it fit her beautifully, and the letter, he said, addressed to Jim Driggs in Rancocas would be delivered by hand that day for the heavens would await its arrival.
9/11
The Best Man
Danny had the best day of his life on Saturday because he had somewhere to be, on Saturday, because Danny knew how to live simply how to enjoy the little things. he'd tell himself, I don't need all that Looking at the rich men on Santa Monica Boulevard and their lego towers of self-assured success. he'd tell himself I don't need the big house on the street whose name I can’t say or the fancy black car with the flat-screen TVs in the back of the seats, I just need enough money to keep myself outta the rain or outta the heat, or just outta outside if inside’s where I want to be. I just need enough to get by, he’d say, enough to keep myself drinking it in and he meant that quite literally because Danny would be happy with just enough money to drink consistently from that shelf above the well, the middle level with its caucus of “J-named” friends, the jacks, the jims, the jamies, the J&Bs. that beautiful pink cloud hovering above the speed rack slums with their los generales tequila, inexplicably made from grain. I hate my job he'd say, they undervalue me, they underappreciate me, they don't even notice me, he'd say. And that was the worst part to Danny: that they barely even noticed him. He could work a dead-end desk all day, slinging papers embossed by Chinese hands and pushing off his 401(k). he could keep up the charade so long as they missed him on sick days, so long as someone said "hi" when he arrived, or just asked him about his weekend. The best day of his life, was on Saturday, and Danny woke up at 9am, got out of bed by 10. He showered and he washed his hair twice, shaking some water into the shampoo bottle because he had forgotten to run out and get more shampoo when the bottle went empty the day before and holding the empty bottle up to the showerhead, to try and coax the stragglers of shampoo scum off the plastic walls inside like the boys on the back wall at the middle school prom, he had to trick it into dancing its way out, squeezing it like a surgeon on a tube of cookie dough, getting the angels’ share back, well, being ill-prepared for the shampoo recession that sad, lonely morning drought, meant washing his hair twice. Danny finished the job and dried off. He put on an olive green suit he'd had since he was sixteen and there were cigarette burns, holes, in the left leg because Danny only smoked with his left hand, even though he was right-handed, because Danny learned to smoke cigarettes while driving, on a road trip to Maine, and the driver-side window was on the left. Danny had somewhere to be, the best day of his life, and he went. He arrived at the wedding by himself and sober, and it was clear in the air and in his eyes. It was a small affair a Quaker wedding and the ceremony was in silence. People held hands and breathed slowly. The couple to be wed, was wed, and none of the babies cried. At the reception in the old stone barn Danny kept his belt belted and his tie tied and he ate with the appropriate forks in the appropriate order and, he even caught a smile from one of the server girls, explaining to her, gently, that bourbon only comes from Kentucky, and though it was a sour mash, Jack would do just fine. And when it was time to make the speeches time to clink glasses with cutlery and blow hot air out of hot mouths The groom's brother got scared- he found the wrong kind of silence at the wrong part of the procession, And the groom's father wasn't there. So there was no one in the room to tell the happy couple why they were so happy, to notice what they'd done. So, after having drank, miraculously, the correct amount of sour mash, Danny stood up. Danny stood up with a smile, and moved to speak. He checked the faces in the room, maybe thirty-five or so, and he looked at the champagne in the glasses, and the champagne in his own, and tilting his chin up, he said: You two are my closest friends. You, Steven, have saved my life in ways you could never know. And you, Jan, have been as loving as my own mother. The things you do for me, the support, the invitations out on bad days, the, the, the respect you give me. There are no words to describe what it means to me. And to see you like this, married, together, I can't help but think that the world is in a better place because of it. Because of you two, together. I love you both. Danny choked up, and blushed, and sipped his glass, and on that the wedding guests cheered and toasted, and laughed, and Steven and Jan, they smiled, silently and looked at him from across the room, from the high table, with tender pride. Danny picked up an unclaimed champagne flute and drank it and after that he went to the open bar. And while he was there, he thought- well, this is it, this is the last time the three of us will be a team. And he continued to watch himself for a misspoken slip-up, and he counted his drinks so things wouldn't turn sour, and he didn't ruin the moment, In fact, every joke he joked landed, and when the dance floor opened up and the mob’s eyes scanned for the first from the periphery, Danny stepped in. Danny was the first, the one who made it okay to look dumb because Danny stayed cool. By the time the bar closed, he even got the number for the server girl, still coherent in his somnambulance, albeit sweaty, he may have charmed her something good. And when he went to sleep that night, in his room, alone, he thought, this was the best day of my life. And everyone saw it. Nothing that has ever happened before, or could possibly come later, will ever compare to this. And when he woke up the next day, it was Sunday, and the light coming through the blinds cut his face into mosaic tiles, and when he got to the shower, scrambling from his bed at a lurch, he stepped in, he drew the curtain, and noticing that shampoo bottle, crushed and empty again, he cried.
7/17
plain like light denim
plain like the grass between railroad ties sometimes she feared herself filler, the friend men used, went through, to get to the gorgeous one, so, full-up on dark coffee and spiced rum she went out. to dance. she wore flats to the China One nightclub- no pants she agreed to meet the night halfway with panty hose, and a starched, white collar she unbuttoned on a black shirt all dressed up in her formal attire and they barely let her in looking like a church girl. once inside, though, she thrived. you can dance in the same spot for a long time, she said, over glass-shattering bass, so long as everyone else keeps moving and she gestured to her sides, arms bent like an air traffic controller she smiled and the bald man with the sideburns swayed next to her snapped his fingers to a chin-strapped beat eyes on the horizon she danced in ups and downs, pluses and minuses neutral was her endgame, but she was in the black tonight. and, never twisting, she didn't stop when the songs stopped she didn't turn her hips from the door she faced that same wall all night and everyone noticed that she was plain like light denim plain in a beautiful way she was whole milk and corn flakes she was that star you couldn’t name and she didn't need to own the dance floor she had renter's insurance.
7/17
her in his name
she married him under the brooklyn bridge, she married him in simple white and a small crowd gathered, a small crowd smiled gracious cheers and polite applause, because after all they were in public and my old friends were there, their faces in the wedding photos wider than I remembered them. she looked happy in those pictures when she married him and George wore a bow tie, polka-dotted and the contrasts found in the photo albums, the glow of her red on white cheeks, her dress, her teeth, her eyes against his dark blue jacket, my god, reason alone for a ceremony, I said must have used a 7D, I said, sitting by my computer screen. because she married him, in fulton ferry park the place where I had written a short story about us falling out of love years before, and I shared it with my mom because the bride and i we weren’t on speaking terms, then and then again, we still aren’t but in all the wedding photos I could swear she was staring back at me when she married him her deep eyes and auburn freckles, asking, why did you choose the bottle and your wicked nights, the other girls, the hospital stays, broken teeth and bleeding wrists and god knows what else you did over me? in the wedding photos she asks me, was it worth it, now? now that you’ve given us both up, the booze and the burning bride? was it worth it knowing that, knowing that on my wedding day, I’d still look at you like this?
7/17
Keeping Inventory
Nordstroms her north star she's just working on her first year because the pink cloud up and disappeared she's just working on her first year. And it's dark out there, but she's bright Navigation by the hot white light of shoe racks lit up lovely in the stores at night. Nordstroms her north star she called a car put it on her credit card with 18 months zero APR and when she hits fifth avenue, smoking both feet broken by day-old heels it's the most calm she feels. yeah, she's still dry from last night's party but did she think about stopping and dropping in? hardly. it's the crying that she can't stand to hear and she's just working on her first year. well, she's been to the bottom and she's cried from the floor and she's tried taking less, but they always pour more a receipt for step four before the credit card clears she's just working on her first year. Nordstroms her north star, she bought that bridge in Brooklyn with an airline miles card and when she caught her own eyes in the mirror, in passing, between the aisles with nervous laughing, she had to tell herself not to fear she's just working on her first year. and the meetings bring her down, she says since that pink cloud up and disappeared rather spend my time uptown, she says she's just working on her first year. so if you see her at the mustard seed the twelve on twelve say hi for me, tell her I miss her around thought she went back out, but she's keeping inventory, literally you can tell by the way she stands crooked and sultry with a god-shaped hole in hand, pearls, maybe sapphires and a bag by Vera Wang oh, it's the little things she holds dear she's just working on her first year.
7/17
TUNNELS
They all worry about shoes but love taking pictures of their feet, with friends, and I’ll tell you- Never trust a soft-soled woman. give em hell or give em hot coals to walk over you upon, with high arches and shower pumice, painted nails and baby steps. last one i had, last time i had her? she left me in disgrace, but she had heels like Broadway asphalt and thighs like Broadway lights. never forgot the sound of her name, clicking my tongue against my teeth. you never forget their names.
it's a hot town, it's summer in the city, and she's wearing tights because she hates wearing skirts on the subway. but she's wearing a skirt and tights and she's looking fine. she's not lonely, she's eccentric. she always wears skirts with tights; summer in the city and legs without tights got stuck, they'd stick to the subway bench, people would look, she said.
she's looking at all the faces on the train and she's wishing she still had a crack at someone new. but no- everyone's recycled lovers at this point and everyone reminds her of him. his swollen eyes, his dimpled chin, his scars. not everyone can look like they stepped off a movie set, she says. and she crosses her legs and she uncrosses her legs, and she shifts and sweats, and her tights bunch up and her shoes come off her heels, and her flats hold whole oceans while her sandpaper heels stay sandpaper dry.
a man enters the train and he's about her age, maybe older, she feels complacent, like a bride in 1959. she doesn't know what stop to stop at, what exit makes the most sense; convenience and Jesus, what did she pre-platform for? the whole thing's a mess, and this is what you think about when you've been in the city your whole life. she really wants to go camping, pitch a tent, cast a rod, catch a fish; she's never been and she knows she'll hate it, but she wants to try. she can't sit still on beaches- doesn't see the point of sitting still, doesn't want to sit in sand for the sake of a tan. yeah, yes, yes- of course she likes the sun, but for Christ’s sake you can move around and get a tan at the same time. waves scare her.
Another man enters the train and this one is much older. he stares at her. he looks her up and down. god, she hates that feeling. so of course he starts rubbing himself, touching the stains upon his jeans. it’s natural to him, she thinks, it’s natural to take it all in; he owns us underground, we’re just dolls in his subway car diorama. she gets up to change cars. he gets up with her. she sits back down, he smiles, he winks, and exits the train. she looks over her shoulder but she can't see him. he's right behind her, though, staring from the platform, separated by scratched names in graffittied glass, mens’ names, men who have taken this train as their own in the past. he spits on the window as the train pulls away. she adjusts her tights.
Every now and then she thinks about the way she left things. her boy had moved to jersey and broken up with her, and she felt like that was his loss, him losing, and when you throw jersey into the mix you’re losing on two fronts. losing it. she could call him, but she wasn't going to call him. she could send him an email- she was good at typing things out. gave her time to think, she thought, and gave her time to compose her thoughts, she was thinking. no- emails are too impersonal, ineffectual, and lacking affection. she wished she could just bump into him on the subway sometime. she pulled her skirt down. she checked her purse.
the time is late and she's going under the river now. pressure in her ears and she's got so much water above her, that's what that pressure must be, so much water just trying to come down on her. it only takes a little while to cross under the river, but you feel it. you can feel it in your face, and your ears, and your eyes. she had the misconception that arthritic men could feel it in their knees, in their knuckles. she never cracked her knuckles- she was afraid of arthritis. sometimes she sat down in the shower and curled into a ball and let the water wash over her knees.
she missed taking showers with him. she missed falling asleep with the tv on, wrapped into him. it was hot outside, she thought, but this car is air-conditioned and cool. maybe she wouldn't get off the train. maybe she wouldn’t stop at any stop. maybe she would just keep riding, just keep cutting forward. how did they dig so much underground without everything falling in on itself? the earth itself coming down on them? it's a reasonable question, she thought, but no one demands it be answered. a boy enters. he looks at her with swollen eyes and a dimpled chin, scars and sunburn and smiles that light the tunnels like the deepest of black box stages, and she says, "my god! it's him," but it isn't him.
he's in jersey now.
7/6
Someone said you'd be here, standing by the statue of the Hunter, praising Artemis with open arms and bated breath, and my God, woman! What happened to your tooth? Was it loose, or did you dance it out? Swallow it, whole? Did you, Sell it to the street kings and whores, change it down to a dime, a nickel, and a secret handshake. Listen, kid, we like you, and you’ve been wasting your time waiting for us here. The statue lied. We all already saw the best of you, the moments you wanted us to see, really, the times you paused, and looked back over your shoulder, made promises and plans with god, and the dead, stood watch You asked the sky to make this one count and it did, and we counted it, and you did the best Yeah, We've seen the absolute best from you, But we’re more impressed with your friends.
7/6
on stealing from celebrations
you know people steal from celebrations no, not chicanery, it’s an amicable thievery, friend-on-friend larceny and more than most frequently they’ll take glasses and cutlery, forks and knives, flutes for champagne treasures once filled with sparkling wine toasted and disappearing, into purses, clutches, sport coats and pockets, magic tricks, all magicians on hand vanish the place settings! abscond all utensils before the band takes a break! at weddings, graduations, bat mitzvahs, and showers some people take- every time- something, and- chances are you haven't been to a celebration that has been celebrated theft-free so it’s heard, most rationally from the felons at large they’re just making sure the hosts get what they paid for because that’s the guests chore, isn’t it? to make sure they get what they paid for? so, yes, the waiters chalk it up to dropped glasses, shattered accidents, that sacrifice to the party and it’s alarming how well the caterers accept the losses, they expect the losses and it’s their job to know the trade it's only house-losses, they'll say, it’s just lost to the house, price duly paid to the carousing Gods of another Saturday. and so it goes unspoken, from guest to host between the hurrahs, the toasts those rose-cheeked speeches there’s a joyous deception from the guests in the back but you know what? it’s okay, it doesn’t break its meaning. and really, honestly, and ordinarily everyone steals something from celebrations and it’s not always physical, what they take but, at funerals or the dour wake they always their spill drinks.
7/6
i was on my way up to rehab they gave me a scholarship said, "Boy, "Boy, "Boy, you gotta get off these streets." they said, "Boy, "It's better for us, boy that you get yourself out of that bottle" "it's better for us all, at large that you wash up ashore this time and quit chasing that tide" and that was that a scholarship to rehab and i was on my ride up to rehab thinking, my suitcase stuffed with nightlights and booklights, deodorant and body wash that was shampoo and shaving cream and I thought, everything in this world is trying to be fifteen other things I should try to wake up without scars and stained jeans overdraft fees and I was tired of swimming, really tired of swimming, hoping that a woman would keep blowing up my swimmies my little pillows of air-mattress life-support triangles and triforces and title cards for the scene i was on my way up to rehab and afroman came on the radio and I laughed and laughed and my family let me drive crossing straight lines through new hampshire trees.
7/6
can't you see i'm micterating? i said whoa, college she said don't piss on your shoes.
7/6
love to treat you to something nice but i've got this thing with my apr, it becomes me, and baby, you know the scariest thing about debt? i can take all the credit. i can take us out to the ballgame, love who do you want to win?
7/6
"I mean if we were sitting on the outside seat right now, I'd be getting up." "We're not sitting on the outside seat. But we haven't been on vacation- together- in..." "Nuts, I know." "Unless you don't want to?" "No, I mean." "We've got 30 seconds to decide." "You want to?" "Yeah, I say we get up." "I don't know." "I'm not gonna pressure you." "I know." "Twenty seconds." "I have a different approach." "What's that?" "Why don't we plan it?" "No." "Plan it out, not make it so impulsive." "We can stay at my lady's place." "Oh right, she's close, right?" "She's not home." "Why not?" "So you'll do it?" "No, why isn't she home?" "She's out." "Some people do this. Some people just get off a train wherever and take it as it comes." "You aren't one of those people?" "I'd like to be. I bet it would be refreshing." "I bet." "If we were on the outside seat I'd get off." "I know you would." "I would." "So-" "Fuck!" "What?" "Did you see this?" "See what?" "The meeting got moved back to New York." "What?" "The meeting-" "Fuck!" "Fuck." "How did you miss this?" "What?" "We should have gotten off."
7/6
she's wearing candy canes to bed, wrapped cellophane tight round her hipbones, thighs shown bright through the reading light and for every painted toenail there's a song in her head, an ankle pressing deep into a thigh, crossed legs and a crooked core, always in costume for the half-step ballroom bedroom floor she straightens up in dressed down comfort stretching her arms across her lap, her one hand fumbling for the after-hour smores and when dessert comes first you ask for two because who, oh who said it wasn't sweet going to bed with you?
7/6
he stood outside with a long cigarette trapped between his fingers, golden wristwatch slouching down his wrist and his eyes were like black beads of glass anchored in the calm of a gray ocean, going nowhere, bobbing i took his hand upon introduction, but it was really more his idea and he showed me inside the diamond store on jewlers row sansom street sampson street, how many men had split hairs here? for a woman, for a lover, mistresses and wives impulse and apology how many men had shaken that hand waiting for it to pull back, out of sight? "there are different rating scales," he said "europe is different than america's. we're harder on our diamonds in america." he said "so you always have to make sure you know what scale the ratings come from." his tan and black suit, his gold-on-gold necklace, the wrinkles in his collared shirt, the wrinkles in his brow, this man, with the cigarette tar still crying on his fingers arms folding and unfolding to demonstrate to me authority, engagement, consternation his glasses removed to look me in the eye. his glasses upside-down on a palm-oiled display case rims scratched behind the ears and loose in the screws this man, his oversized suit, and his friends, those precious, american-rated diamonds, he was here to help me choose they were here to make me to stay
7/6
will I ever be that good? never shot up, never shot a woman down too much silver in the spoon taking water shots from the east river and i thought of lots of way to tell you i'm moving north going up top to where the mountains grow their trees as high as cellphone towers and no one gets any service, worst of it behind me, i'll say, after i turn away from new york and the rent i couldn't pay someday we'll laugh about this over coffee and biscotti and you'll tell me you really didn't think i'd leave not like that, that if i left on my own i'd come back alone and you thought you'd have to pick up my pieces, seems like i've done okay, you'll say, seems like it was the right play for that moment in time, but now, where are we now? coffee and stale bread, you're good, you say, you're good and if i need somewhere to stay, there's a subway car with my name on it.
7/6
Mr Murphy the traveling alcoholic he balances the beer between his feet, chin rest on the arm rest, best of the bunch they said upon his new school graduation there's a place in new jersey where the sunflowers come right up to the tunnel and when the train shits itself out of the bedrock of the hudson river they bow in the garden-state-breeze, these flowers bunch up their leaves, their petals, their hairy little eyes and they shed all at once, their dander and animal parts and they dance back from the train take up root and break themselves in half to be free death on the tracks, we watch, only first leg of the trip and he's already fallen, mr murphy and the mexican king of beers, balancing each other out watching the foliage fold and the sunflowers grow away there's a place in new jersey where the tunnel doesn't go and that's where the sunflowers want to be
7/6
danny broke the brim of his hat sitting at the rodeo it was in his back pocket, folded up and sat-upon he watched the calf get tied watched the bull get angry a riot cuff around his nuts and danny thought, "this is what the rest of the country is doing" and he clapped when everyone else clapped and he closed his eyes when he drank his beer and everything was warm in the bleacher seats and that giant sandbox
7/6
THE JUDGE AND STATE LINES
baby went up to the sequoias took my boy on up and he hasn't texted home once since I got him that phone baby went up to the sequoias where the tops of trees look down down on her like she looks down on me because baby went up to the sequoias and I'm happy for the space I say, she needs the time to cool her jets and recycle the air she breathes please, I told her, wait for me to save some cheese before you cash that check for gas this week baby, she went up to the sequoias state parks help her believe, you see that god didn't turn off the hospitality of sunrise without me by her side, clutching the last of the the six pack that put me to sleep baby went up to the sequoias because a life in the trees would beat life with me, though my boys gonna break her when he turns 18 baby went up to the sequoias, but if I thought it would last and she'd found her reprieve I'd do differently but baby's a waitress and when those patrons stay in, baby comes home to me. baby comes home to me. baby comes home to me.
7/6
her belly the length of the English Channel better men than me have died to swim that distance from chin to navel and tread the water between her thighs
7/27
Spun
we're all drunks here, he said and there was something wise about her whiskers her upper lip and the smile breaking about the lines on her face gotta get up each day, gotta make the donuts, he said so she danced by herself for a time in the corner of the room and the song spun itself in cobwebs around the moment country shine, moon shine, time took her hand and spun he laughed, he laughed, he called her name and envied her closed eyes she cried, there are gods between us big enough to break in embrace! come here, she said, come here, she said, come here and take me back, you fool! yes, we'll make it right again, i swear it, but you can never do it again, you drunk you can’t, she said and i won't cry like that ever more he crossed one foot in front, one foot behind oh, how they looked in locked arms! oh, the music never slowed, and their feet never crossed, and her hair, it was a kite on independence day she knew he meant it, he always meant it but she still didn't think it would last, not once, did she, and he turned her around and around and around, like he had done all his life, and this time she asked for it with all her heart.
7/27
we valleys, we cannot tell your mountains to stop crumbling,
stop your skies from falling or your rivers crying down,
we cannot keep your stars from raining ancient light
nor your seas from washing in,
we valleys,
we stop not your clouds from breaking,
your sounds from dancing,
not your leaves from blowing through
we valleys, we are at the bottom of it all,
always looking up
and waiting for your kiss
7/27
we men aren't made to break seas
but ships sail every day, and the lines they cut
take me to you
buoyant and alone, I wait for storms to pass
back to the coast, back to the apartment I rented
and the home you left
clouds crashing in to tear down that past
and wash away the debris
5/25
Been breaking the bank lately, she said, and she meant she was happy to oblige, eyes wide at the sight of him, his collar, his cufflings, his car. And she lifted her dress while she walked over And she smiled from one side of her mouth Lighting a cigarette in the other. I'm never late, but I'm rarely on time, he said, and he laughed and she did not. But she was just happy to see him, and he needed the company, together they drove off to the wake. They weren't overdressed, they were in love, And people die all the time.
3/17
She told me she wanted to see me Stronger than dirt And she said it like she meant it Stronger than dirt, but I Have heard that before And I can’t blame her for being unoriginal I can blame her for being a thief Yeah, we’re all going to steal something So know who you’re stealing from. What happened to the art of the con, I asked her She asked what art? What con? And I realized I had been conned long before The conversation started. We’re all thieves, she said. You just call thieves “unoriginal.”
3/17
Last night I wanted to stay home. But I didn’t. I stayed inside, instead. If we’ve got a home I’m missing, I’m clearly not missing it, And she clearly knows where it is. I’m stronger than dirt Stronger than dirt Stronger than dirt.
3/17
A lot has been said about us, I said About us She thought that was funny because She thought I was joking But I wasn’t A lot has been said about us, I was only making a goof. She spilled the drink, I laughed, And we saw what was On-Demand.
3/17
You want to call someone about this party? She looked at me and I realized she didn’t ask twice Not that I was stupid about it. But that I was stupid for looking at her. She looked at me longer this time, Let it set in. I said, I don’t have anyone to call anymore. I just text these days. She laughed. And Kept looking at me.
3/17
I don’t want you to smoke in this apartment. From then on, I took her words, her wants I took it literally, And I smoked in only my friends’ apartments. They were pissed because I did it en masse She was pissed because they were her friends too. We never could differentiate our differences. But I switched to menthol And from that day forward It smelled like mints. Or so my friends told me.
3/17
So what’s this? She said It’s my music. I want to start listening to more music, I said. In the apartement? In my apartment, yes, I said. I could tell it was yours. You could tell it was mine? My music. No, I could tell it was your apartment. My apartment doesn’t have shitty music in it.
3/17
It was early and I was about to leave. She had taken her shower, she had brushed her hair. I asked, do the kids look at your hair? She looked at me, said, of course they look at my hair. They brush it for me. I asked her why she let them brush it. Have you ever had kids? No, I Said, neither have you. Then don’t brush anybody’s hair.
3/17
You think we’re happy like this? You think we should keep this up? As opposed to what, she said. As opposed to…you know… letting it go. I don’t know what that would feel like I said. She said, It should feel like something’s missing from your life. Missing, I said? You’re considering this? No, she said. I just wish I knew you knew what it would feel like.
3/17
We’ve got the back part all wrong. The way we end things is stupid, stupid and wrong. She said, I know you’ll feel stupid for a while. I said, I feel stupid every morning. Good, she said. You’ve had practice.
3/17
I’ve never felt so smart. I feel like I have eyeballs in my hands and everything they touch turns. Turns to what, she said. Turns to me. I took a shower. She had matted hair. I was stronger than dirt. Stronger than dirt Stronger than Turn that song off, she said. I don’t have work today.
------------------------
12/30
this one's for you: there just can't be an ending anymore, it'll confuse the beginning and no one likes being mislead. especially in entertainment, love, and casual encounters.
12/30
can't help but believe you've done this before because i've walked a mile in those shoes and i think i wore out the soles not all shoes fit all feet and that's not what i'm getting at, so slow down. there's a reason we call it "transcending" it's because you get above the other shit and you look down and realize that the other shit was the only thing you had to stand on and now you're just floating. fuck if there's a breeze, a jetliner, a flock of geese you've done this before what's the best way to dodge a question before you know it's coming but after your actions have answered it? never be near, you'll probably say but i'll have left before your response.
12/30
some of us are trying to work here tying knots knotting ties just taking the piss out of anybody who walks by. and some of you say you know what it means to work and some of you say you know what it means to pray but none of you say you know what it means to die so in that, i excuse myself take my work home with me and wear out my church clothes to the laundromat yes, i'll say, he was a good man. yes, he did uncork a bottle or two and yes, yes, yes he was a son of a bitch but we loved the way he worked and no one knows how to work it without him.
12/30
how can you smile at something like that, she said i don't know what you're talking about, i was thinking of something else you didn't see it? she said no, see what? no that man is missing his legs, and you're smiling honestly, i said, i'm not sure he's still missing them. at this point he's probably just angry she turned away from me to wipe her nose and i saw him his wheelchair stuck in the subway grate, his fingers in the spokes.
12/30
we can all be present presented with past appeals for a collective lack of absence we can all be great at what we do and never get to do it again we can all be always right and never make a choice. we can all stand up during the performance and sit down during the race, thoughts playing past memories scattered throughout our brains we can all try to be what our fathers think we are but we all know our fathers aren't always right, only always on time.
12/30
i want you here, i want you in my arms i want to squeeze you til it hurts i want to hold you until you're dying and your ribs will break and your lungs will tear and your heart will stop and, i will be holding you still when you're dead.
12/30
they're taking it all apart, you know
what?
all of it, brick by brick. you get to take one out yourself sign it for a small donation
i never thought i'd live to see it gone
no one did no one thought they'd live
and now it's gone
it's not gone yet there are still donations to be had. bricks and signatures to be broken. to break.
12/30
they gave us a chance the last time around but now we're up shit's creek and we are the paddle we are the rattle, the battle, the prattle we are what we let ourselves become, we are what we let ourselves become, we are what we let ourselves become, and we ain't taking it back, we ain't changing pace, we ain't changing track. they gave us a chance the last time around and we looked them in the eyes, raised our chins, opened our mouths, and said, and said it loud, bellowing, wallowing in our ourselves we said, "where we're going you wouldn't fit, you'd have nowhere to stand and nowhere to sit. you'd just stick out because you don't belong where I'm going. no, where you belong is high up, high, high up so you have something to fall off of and something low to hurt yourself upon when you land on your neck." I hope you land on your neck.
7/28
can we just take a moment to relax? kick off a few footballs and watch the recap on our flatscreen tv's? no? who's up for foosball then?
7/28
i just started drinking coffee. i never liked the way it made me feel before. it makes you feel something? yes. god bless it. oh don't be sacramental what does that mean? you mean you haven't heard? heard what? the news? i don't own an iphone. oh, oh- well, you should. i know, i know, i've heard. other than that, though, we're very happy. you and martha? oh no, we're miserable. i'm talking about my other friends.
7/28
so there's a reason to use exclamation points? yes, it's for when you're excited or want to exclaim something. when was the last time you exclaimed something? oh, i don't know, i think when my wife died. that must have been hard for you. i'm sorry. so am i. you know it's just a part of life, though, right? what? dying? yes. no, i'm not sure i knew that. oh, oh, well yes- it is. really? i don't know, i'm a compulsive liar, i should probably tell you that. really? so was my wife!
7/28
i'm so very sorry for your loss. it's okay, it didn't mean much to me, so long as he's dead.
7/28
did you hear the news? what? no? i don't own a radio. did you read it then? of course.
7/28
are we there yet? yes oh, i'm sorry, i didn't even look outside no, it's okay, it's hard to feel anything these days. isn't it? i thought that was just me. yeah, no it is just you it's just you get out, we're there. you're fucking with me? yes. it's the only way i can feel anything these days. wait, i think there's something out there yes. it's the bag. don't make this difficult. i won't, but you should know something yes? i'm not that kind of cat. good. it's not that kind of bag.
7/28
you'd think that if i were a religious man i'd pray more but chances are, i'd be too busy for that.
7/28
it gets rewritten in reverse order and we have to take sides already knowing which way it's going.
7/28
the answer was jon voight and dustin hoffman but the question was inane.
7/28
it's a hard time for this country, and penny lost the farm.
7/28
just in time to lose the the case, just in time to steal the scene, it was a matter of chubby checker and the mysterious coincidence did you know? did you hear? he walks like a dinosaur and talks with fire gestures with his hands and he killed a cat or two once they got out. then again, he let them out.
7/28
i thought you quit? yeah, i know, i did oh, okay. keep it up.
7/28
it's a hard time in the country, down on penny's farm god never talked so much so you know something's up.
7/28
my goodness, you're on fire.
7/28
chubby checker and the case of the wrong number. did you know there aren't always seven digits, all the time? did you know there aren't always seven samurai by the end? we're all gonna take some losses here tighten the belts, lighten the loads, take on what needs taking on. did you know? we aren't always right but we get to keep making decisions anyway.
7/28
keep it up, kid, we miss you when you don't deliver. we miss most things, though they always seem too far from us. i remember missing the sabbath and i had to sacrifice a lot to get it back. i remember missing the good-old-days and i had to go to a diner to get it back. i remember missing my memories and i had to do something new to get them back.
7/28
a couple of fallen soldiers we make drinking fun again just don't expect us to love you later and don't tell your ma we're engaged.
7/28
you can't have everyone all the time but you can always have the worst of them most of the time. actually, you already do. but you're probably too lazy to understand what that means.
7/28
you look stupid in a sweater and smart in a coat so winter must really be a chore.
7/28
yeah we've got windows we're practically on the top floor. they put the windows in from top-down and they take them out of every other building. ever seen what it looks like to be taller than your friends? i haven't, but then again, i'm always the needle, you're always the haystack. just how many licks does it take? how many friends should you make? where's the beef? oh, that's right, you've lost me again. i thought i told you i like walking in circles, i just don't have a sense of balance.
7/28
chubby checker and the case of the wrong chinese food.
7/28
flipped my bike yesterday came up with a story to show off my scars it was a lie, though it was my fault and my ass on the line and i'd be miserable if it didn't turn out the way it did. did you know? did you hear? someone new is coming in this evening i hear she makes a great cocktail, fixes a good drink, saves a soul or two during happy hour. i think, and maybe it's just conjecture, that you were meant to meet me right now and we were meant to fuck this all up. did you hear? expectations went out with the 90's, glam rock isn't dead, and i only lie when i talk about the past.
7/28
title text, paragraph, video, contact form and then you get the funding once you get the funding, you get the power once you get the power, you get the girl once you get the girl, you probably type faster and then you kick yourself for being so nice.
7/28
give me a break or give me a kit-kat bar. the air conditioner is whistling, the train is overheating, the cat's out of the bag and it's been dead for some time. just think this last part through: how many licks does it take to get to the center? you can't honestly believe you're the first to try so can you just get tested?
7/28
okay, so we've all heard your spiel and we think it's very good thing is, we just don't like you.
7/28
god doesn't make 'em like he used to but they don't make gods so well, either least not ones we can take seriously "we" being the thinkers and "them" being the do-ers. did you know that a lucky rabbit's foot isn't lucky? chances are it ain't even a rabbit's foot chances are, it's just a keychain chances are, it's ironic nowadays get on that you know we need marketing. signed, the premier of china from taiwan.
7/28
a couple of times I doubted him but i should have known he was a cowboy and then we found out you were king, so let me tell you i've been between a rock and a hard place before but never a hard rock cafe except on thanksgiving in spain when the people of barcelona had nothing to be thankful for and i just wanted some mashed potatoes. you're right, your highness it is uncomfortable to sit alone.
7/28
go- it's too hot to sit in one place and think about hard times, hard country, hard farming you know it's a hard time, in the country, down on penny's farm, right?
7/28
go- you're still young today and tomorrow you'll probably sleep in
7/28
it's a hard time in the country down on penny's farm but that's why we visit only on weekends
7/28
go- it's too far from here to be looking back and still focusing, too far from there to be looking ahead and still thinking that a plan will get you anywhere from here, come on, come quick, we've got plenty of options dwindling.
7/28
so i should just say that you did it on purpose, so did i, so did she, and your parents- they love you, and it's a hard time in the country, down on penny's farm walk it off, kid- you're big around here. things like to swell up and we all think that's swell. thinks like a walrus, walks like a dinosaur. sometimes we all get too big for our heads and our heads get too big for our shoes. don't lean too far forward when you walk and don't drag your feet, other than that you'll be fine in quicksand and slow on asphalt. did you know we've all been there before? stood where you're standing sung what you're humming seen where you've been looking and forgotten what you've been looking for? yeah, we're all proud like parents and it's your graduation day, you, the montagues, the ne'er-do-wells the captain of your captains and a capulet or two, you think heavy-handed is enough for your imagery? you think heavy lifting is enough to hold you up? no one can can walk three miles in your shoes not on these roads, not in this heat not when the sand ain't quick and the wits ain't slow every now and then we lose a little but not much, maybe more than we're used to. every other day we seem to learn something new. but it's the same old shit and you're still the same person you've just new shit-stains under your eyes and new wrinkles lining your cheeks. check this out, forget the rest, discard the past, recall the :
7/27
broke plans for broke people and a murder in the west village gets you in the door. we got 3 floors of hardwood, 4 if you count the basement but honestly, it's carpeted underneath. break out the power sander, dust off your hands, take a tall drink of water and get ready to sweat this one out it's hard saying you want to live on a tree-lined street when you spend most of your time indoors, anyway then again, i'd like to live on a tree-lined street with a balcony.
7/23
it's good to have a plan these days and i drew it up for myself in my head and on my hands smeared the ink when i rode my bike, though smeared the ink when i thought too hard about tomorrow, yesterday, cliches. it's good to have fun these days and have a good time doing it sometimes it's inseparable: fun and time and these days it's good to have a lot these days and it's good to be broke these days if you want people to take you seriously you can't have too much fun having too much of anything at all especially time these days.
7/23
they take a few things, yes everywhere you go they need something to carry where they're going. you don't just show up you don't show us up, either you don't take things from us you've got choices and you chose me. they say they say sometimes you can't but think of the things you did while drunk. and from what you remember you did them well.
7/23
we were all moving in to the same house and i wanted to know who was getting my room i want the one by the train tracks the elevated one a train rumbles beneath me, i've heard that before it's nothin new to have a train beneath you i want one beside me like a bedside table and when i go to sleep i can have it run through my dreams and it can rumble through my nightmares and it can shake my sheets and pull the paint from my walls. when we all moved in to the same house we decided to pay each other back at a later date but we all chipped in for the coffee maker and that made sleeping hard. when we all moved in to the same house i said i wanted the bedroom with the light in the evening and that made sleeping hard.
7/23
i would be lying if i said i didn't want to call but i'm not a liar, i'm just quiet and sometimes my thumbs work the hardest while my fingers have the fun that was the case with you yeah, i don't get service here ssshhhhhhhhhh.
7/23
it was somewhere to be discovered waiting beneath a layer of ash and dust and dead skin cells that still want to cover you they stick together til you brush them off but no, don't worry, they'll find each other again on your floor and then they'll find your feet and then they'll find your hands you're never truly alone when you have your old skin all around you dust bunnies don't hop and they don't run, either then again neither do you that's probably why you were always made for each other give it time and you'll find it somewhere under you.
7/23
take me bowling and you'll get a strike take me picketing and you'll get the gutter take me to the streets and you'll get a gun take me home and you'll get me gone by morning
7/23
at this point i say 'huzzah' and then we retire early
7/23
the spark's not gone it's just dimmer that's why they call it the golden years did i tell you i'm having another birthday this year? i know, i know but will you come? i'm not afraid of getting older i'm just terrified of change chances are, so are you but it's unlikely you'll admit it til you're comfortable in your golden years. hey, is that a spark or is it the sun in your glasses? we can still make fires if we work together like lord of the flies without the killing you can be piggy and in this version he lives for a little while, at least. did i tell you you're getting older? i know, i know you don't look it yet but you will in your golding years.
4/20
give me a break or give me a kit-kat bar. i thought i knew you better than that, to walk on the backs of elephants and sit still once in a while. i can't stop it, but i sure as hell can top it. so we'll sit here and we'll sit here and we'll wait til she breaks. i can't stand your weight, but you can't stand up straight. jump off it, get off it, get it off me. we're not going anywhere, anytime soon. i've got a whole lot of them, you know, and they're hungry, and they wait for my go. they're pieces of the pieces of what you thought you wanted out of this. they're gonna be cryptic, but hell, we gotta communicate. let's call them "concepts" and i'll call you "lover," but we're not going anywhere, anytime, soon.
4/16
"you are my victory dance"
i gave it my all, she said and they took none of it. you've still got your worries and anyone with dignity knows you'll need em for the long haul, i said. she grinned, she took my face in her hands, and she shook it. you'll need that and a pair of holsters, the guns are kinda optional but the ammunition's free. she smiled we slept through primetime and i missed her commercial. but i know she was still in it, and i still watch tv. how many times are you gonna drop by, unexpected? she said only once more, i said and it wasn't a lie. if she missed me it was only for my fingers on her spine. and only for a short amount of time. i should have brought her bowling, i thought i could have taped it and watched it on our old tv.
4/15
Never trust a soft-soled woman. Give em hell and give em hot coals to walk over you on. They gonna need Heels like Broadway Asphalt and Thighs like Broadway Lights, you say. Never forget that sound of your tongue on your teeth when you pronounce their names. Never forget their names.
4/14
And if "all that glitters is gold" was true, I'd trade in my fillings for an evening with you, the chip on your shoulder and a cup holder, too.
4/13
"they kill the lame ones; they breed the mad"
we're all under the radar and it's very much like a tanning bed we get these ideas in our heads, we try to change us with them we spit where we walk and our women sum you up with a glance at your shoes. i'm too skinny to die young and too chic to grow old, i expect a good deal from my lovers and i expect you to agree with me this time: we're all on the war path and we tramped the trail of tears we haven't lost one day for one year, one minute for one second, one forest for its trees. we haven't lost it yet. agreed?
4/12
you jumped the gun but we forgot to load it; you finished the race and your grinning face showed it.
4/11
"nightlite matadors"
she broke into my apartment to take back her things, but i never changed the lock. i never locked the door, even. in the morning they were gone. and there was a note and it said nothing but what she was missing.
4/10
"i'd like to shake your hand, but i'd crush it."
don't call it arbitrary; it's a comeback not combat some people like the way it sounds when you grind your teeth, but i don't. i like gold teeth and silver fillings for a girl, boys get dentures and a bowl cut. i haven't had a chance to disappoint, but don't worry, i won't disappoint. so we talked for a while and i showed her my bottom teeth and her eyes lit up when she heard i was born in el camino. she was born in el camino, too. but we were years apart and there wasn't time to go back different doctors, i bet, she said and i nodded and i said, yes, different set of circumstances brought us into this world. and then we held hands. god is in the details and it's a detailed city she said: show me your palms in the light.
4/9
god it's like the lights out
4/8
I cut up my hand last night
Breaking branches into twigs and kindling for a fire.
We got it burning, though, got it burning real bright
And I remember looking down, staring into it.
Smoke filling the shed and the roof was just put on last week,
The windows still out and the smoke fighting the breeze.
And the flames danced up toward my jeans, embers marked the bottom of my coat.
Fire spits, jumping, beating against the tin we’d try to contain it within.
It was fighting to burn, bright and lighting our faces, lighting our shoes, breathing the same air.
It was never going to go out, never going to go cold,
So long as I was there.
We stoked it again and it raged up and I coughed; my eyes watered.
And then it was calm. It was warm.
And I stared down again; I scanned for your face.
I looked for you in that fire because that fire was something bright
And I couldn’t lift my eyes away from it, couldn’t bear not to know it.