than any other cheese sandwhich!

I’ve been busy and I have a great deal to do in two weeks.
This is not a hiku, although it is for you.
—-
Success tastes like
two thousand dollars from craigslist,
she was wrong about that too.
—–

Elephants in crates.
A long dog day afternoon in liquid sun,
and other misfortunes not so unfortunate.
—–
Chai tea confessions,
and curious geometries,
walking in the rain.

No pictures this afternoon,
morning trail running, punctuated by strange card games
and over eager septuagenarians.
I remain un-sprained, caffeinated and warm.

Corn syrup and rendered fat,
congeal in the corners of elbow back bone and torn finger,
finger prints write poems sticky
with over sweetened weekends and hortatory dinner parties.

fires and speeches in the morning tide,
after hot tubs turned soup pots peeled back the flesh,
scoured clean with box wine
and laughing too loud at bad jokes,
new numbers and weekends of illicit artichokes.

short hair and lip ring
little death in the afternoon
and poems for dinner

flowers unwiltingly offend,
Where were you drinking last night?
watching NPR and sobbing to the sound of inoffensive jazz.
Sing along with the goat herders,
watch the teeth.

blurry discontent marches up the angles of roof tops,
towards pooling temptation and oatmeal for breakfast.

A series of left hand turns runs us forward and back,
dreams of youth, bug bites before yoga
and turning towards an old man on the make,
he’s warning her about years of sex-less-ness after
child birth.

I dont know if she’s buying it but their awkward conversation leads to
an eye opening hypodermic needle through the clavicle to the heart of
a hidden reservoir of old hatred
now he’s mainlining adrenaline and offering a discount on
all our wedding seat arrangements,
flower petals before swine.

now serious, then funny, we’re turning in a widening gyre towards blue eyes
and pale skin to remember all the petty betrayals of youth
investments in our future broiling out of hollow needle point and
casting a haze of bio-hazard red over our bedsides,
not to mention our broom sticks.

We require editing,
not fit for public consumption, we aren’t
brave we’re just drunk on pink wine in the afternoon
and waiting for our after wedding not a date with the complimentary strippers.

now where the hell is Casey?

Helps the Medicine Go Down.
And she did.

Some days are amazing and perfect.
On other days not evening being seated next to friendly strippers at the wedding reception can fix.
I miss the even keel that comes with, well you know.