When he asks me
I’ll tell him about a boy
who sat on the end of a stage
how I didnt know your name
for weeks

I’ll tell him
we were two trains passing
occasionally crossing paths
tempting the ghosts of our childhood
two strangers
with too much to say



the worst bender
is one that lasts for years
when there is so much chaos
you can only make your addictions
your stability.

My blind deities
My churches made of tinted glass
I still pray for a life
where there is a cup I can keep half full
without succombing to the urge
to empty it.

But I gotta be honest
most hangovers
were never as bad
as what I was running from.

I made a habit
of being an escape artist;

it’s the only things
I’ve ever been good at.

I miss what it feels like
to forget;

when the warm numbness
holds your raw skin
and for a second
you’re invinvible

you walk on hot coals

you kiss people you shouldn’t
you say things you wish you could
take back.

You plant bombs
in places you know
will hit you with shrapnel
when they explode

you walk on broken glass.

It takes a certain level of courage
to stand and face your challenges
and another kind of strength
to destroy everything you love
out of spite

but what were things created for
if not for destruction?
you get bored with every morning headaches
and nights you don’t want to remember

and start building up from scratch again.

we need a forest fire
we need to shed the ashen tongue
of the dead phoenix inside us
in order to see the light within ourselves

sometimes we need to lose everything
in order to see
what we had



four beers in at the Bonfire bar
and I’m a mess.

I’d been drinking
all day

I stumble down to your bar down the block
against your wishes
looking for trouble

I’m all venom tonight
I’m also all

wet moth
and rage
and smudged
I knew
you’d be there.

Knew I’d find you laughing
while I imploded

It’s just the nature of Boulders:
they make it a point to crush
in their path

I only wish
you had the decency
to look up from your whiskey
and see the aftermath



cryptoscopophilia: the urge to secretly look through windows of homes as one passes by

as a child,
the beach was always a road map;
a blueprint
for other lives.

I used to slip barefoot
into the footprints of past
hoping the shapes would match up
like a puzzle piece

high arch
big toe
low heel

as if somehow
I could assume
another’s identity
from the ground

as if in walking their path
I could be kept
from following
my own.



so this is it:
the last horrah
the last goodbye
the last I miss you
the last I told you so

it’s the blacksmith
who knows just how long to
hold the iron
til it leaves its mark

this is it:
the last scream
before it ends
and I am left
with another story to tell

the next explanation

do you know how easy it is to walk away
don’t lie
don’t tell me I’ve changed
when we play out
what we intend
I am not a martyr
I am not a canvas
for someone else’s flame
just a snicker
just a litmus test
another somebody
another face

but you were a planet
with its own agenda

how many times am I marked
before I find the answer
to the riddle
I know nothing
but these raised lines
and the sinking feeling
of being another person’s fool

it is a legacy
we only dream is devoted to the wicked
or the soldiers
or the unfortunate

I am a wild horse
for new shoes.



it’s been 6 years since we’ve spoken.
Enough time to kill who I was;

Who I could have been.

We were pipe dreams back then
and when I left, I knew who you would be:
The shell of success
the Ozzie and Harriet
we played paper dolls for 3 years
now I’m surprised by your picture
like a transient traveler
foreign to my own past

I would have been a bad housewife
so why do I mourn the death
of whatneverwas

perhaps it’s the mask of Normal
that I miss:
the perfect couple
with a secret;
the sugar daddy
footing the bill.

I wasn’t fooling anyone

These days we find ourselves
amnesic apparitions;
passing strangers

with nothing in common