idolatry

it got cold this morning 

after you shut the door;

the breeze was rain

and i cursed under

the quiet you left with

goodbyes,

wishing you had rolled

me a cigarette. 

my impropriety is sung

through drops hitting

curtains, dotting white

to push for

a clarity.

the rain comes, as it always

does, as i am staring at the 

crosswalk, thinking

<<green means go>>

i ripped apart the roof 

of my mouth biting back 

lithographs of summer 

fruits i notice on your

walls -- your walls

my chair

your bed

my pillow.

i am tonguing the sore spots

alternating salt water on 

my cheeks -- lacking the

audacity to laugh. 

berating the breakdown of little 

talks and papers

of her everywhere

and papers of me

on the 

shelf.

you cried after we finished

your mouth quivered in the shower

alternating your hard streams

boyz bring chairs under the 

cover of hard plastic

girls smoke cigarettes

like women and glance

to seem elegant.

i look at you and you

are far away.

humming to kill your quiet, i 

wonder if i am still

shower

you've got fireflies in your
eyes when thinking about
yesterday

younger, you yanked back
broken bolts, bold and trying
to twist thunder into
music just so you could
sing silently, serving only
your single-sided records

knocked twice
knock again

watch the window while
you wait, will the light to
switch

outdoors, there is a meteor
shower and i am bursting
with wishes

knock twice
knock again

watching the wrong window
it points directly west and
i am standing south

the missing
meteors slipping shooters past
blinking notes,
i cry

you are missing it
like i am missing you
and i would wish for you

but i haven't a clue

what you

could

want.

violets in an ace

put me up on top
of the world

i am afraid
to ask
in case it
ruins everything:

could you take
me to church with
you
and let

the quiet quiet you
down

because you are
screaming
silence
& & pushing
me like laughter

on the wrong day
of the week

& & is there
something that i
could do
to be less wrong

blonde or
something
or maybe tan a
bit less
or maybe stop
loving you so much so you can think

morning

sunset fades like wanting

hold our -- breaths

'til morning

& make conversation 'round

my curves and 

our -- secrets. 

fall asleep with lights

on -- the past 

at bay, wheels

turn like they

always have, like 

they did yesterday -- and

keep it dirty. 

never brave enough

to ask -- can you

desire that which 

you already 

have?  shivering cold

like -- their hearts and

winter sunrise. 

makeup

the lady behind the

counter at the corner

store told her it was

rude to eat bananas

in public.

stacked checks 

and cigarettes 

like dominos—learning to

taste the same, 

learning

to play the game. 

why wasn’t it rude to

eat cherries in public? 

the homeless boy

by the street lamp told her

she would look better

if she wore less

make up. 

out of tea bags, she hummed

through a mouth full of warm 

water and remembered

she wasn’t wearing makeup

actually. 

the tall man with the 

suit and the shoes that shined

in the stop light

asked her how much

for the night. 

she didn’t understand 

his question and asked

him for a cigarette. 

he smiled with 

his eyebrows as

she dropped the banana peel

lit up

turned away 

with implied thanks. 

rollers

walked aforementioned
walk forwardly—
indicate
the questionable 
epiphanies of

heroes without 
skill whose
Achilles heel lost 
broken ephemeral 

niceties, pushing manners
and hard pressed for 
the art of 
walking forward. 

You, dear love,
effortlessly got the twists out of 
your tight braids and
straightened your 

hair until you 
look like the kids 
and your jeers made
sneers look kind. 

Pressed lips for
the young like you’ve lost
it fast enough, lost 
it faster than

walking forward, 
aforementioned, 
pressed and clouded
above the broken 

glass. 

pocket change

What was a quarter then?
a nickel and a couple of dimes
             a heavy hand full of pennies
         hitting together to sound
  like double
            bubble rolling
down a glassy
                       grimey chute.


What was a dollar then?
 four quarters or the
                               paper prince
            flag of royalty
                               handed over on my own
with sticky fingers
for the double scoop of chocolate
                               and rainbow sherbet.


a quarter is 12 minutes on the meter
across from the 7/11 where
six dollars will buy a
pack of cigarettes and
the free packet of
cardboard matches.


a block down, coffee with soy
is
four
        seventy
                      five.
drink it because
it tastes expensive
drink it because
it is expensive


Pocket change wanted
                            the potential of bright
                                                      wide eyes
two-hands to hold it all, all
the coins, all
itty bitty promises the
clinking made while
I walked.


Pocket change sounds
           cheap now
 takes up space in my twenty-thousand penny purse.


Sticky fingers hand over dollars
aren't sticky from candy anymore-
sticky fingers and single dollars
                       mean so much more.
                      
I find a five on the floor and it is a single shot of the cheap stuff at the dive bar on my way home from work.
Lincoln holds no glamour to the dulled
                                                          swollen eyes
drop him in my twenty-thousand penny purse
and wonder if the
                       corner-girl, sparkle heels and
                                             greying teeth,
                      takes plastic.