i counted to ten.
you were gone by five.
putting the other
five in your pocket
to buy yourself
something
nice.

you weren't sure how i'd take the news,
so you rehearsed a more polite version of
what you otherwise would have said.
i carried a newspaper in my hand
in case i needed to sit at a bench alone
and cover my pathetic face.

you shamed me into loving you
then forgot every word you said.
and hated me for the newfound expectations
i found out of words
that were supposed
to just stay in your head.

i blamed the jack and coke.
you laugh and reassure me
that you didn't tell me
you loved me
because i already knew that.

but by the time
the clock struck
and you kissed
me.

it turned into an uneven game
of cat an mouse.

you make me hate myself
more than anything else in my life
for what i did
when i was confused.

i leave you to your decor, old friend.
with my pride tied around the noose.

you tell me goodbye.
and i hate to say it.

there isn't enough room for all of us in this closet anymore.
find your own.
find you own.
find you own.

find your own.

sunday morning, she burned her hand making breakfast,
worrying about the refinancing and cut in work hours,
she attempted to solve everyone else's problems,
forcing her to fall back on taking care of herself.
she cleans all night and sits with her son the next morning.

it left her thinking.
it left her thinking.

"i'll leave this world with very few things and a whole lot of words."

and i once again,
ilearn of my rich inheritance
in all the stories

we can
tell.

sleeping lessons (live) - the shins

the penniless woman on the corner screams out
"stop hurting me! stop hurting me! stop hurting me!"
she yells up at the sky and continues,
"why does everyone hurt each other!?
why does everyone hurt each other?!"
i hand her the only change in my pocket -
a fifty cent coin my friend gave me to cheer me up
that night our belligerent friend called me a fag.


i get home and quickly warm up my lunch,
taking a look at the conversations on my desktop
from the night before.

"did i really say that?"

i shake my head in embarrassment and relief
that i finally got those words
out of my head.

the chicken is still a little cold,
but i eat it anyway.

all this talk about insanity with my mom lately
makes me think about the woman on the corner.
were we too soon in believing we finished dodging
tragedy. over and over again, together.

she gives me the last of her extra money
to pay off my last parking ticket.

i eat these cold leftovers
and think, "buddy, welcome to reality."

i finish my last cigarette
and run back to work.

dear manu,

how do you feel about this???

i hear your voices down the hall,
get off my computer
greeting you with hugs,
then blacking out.

and i sleep like a happy child
waking hour later
to the smell of frying prosciutto
and cinnamon challa french toast

tea from the forest cafe days,
you run
and a cold glass waits
for when you get home.

like a best friend.
a best friend.

i escaped on copenhagen rowboats.