Cocaine at the Gym

You take your shirt off immediately…

And walk around like you own the place

Puffed chest, pompous, soaring ego

And everyone takes heed…

Recognizing that you are a raging jackass

“Put your fucking shirt on” I say.  

But you go to the weights and lift

And lift and lift and lift

You are

KING OF THE WORLD

High on Crank

When we walk

I make sure

I am at least

4 paces behind you

Pretending that actually

I don’t have a fucking

Clue who you are.

Lover in my Wasteland

Today the wind is

Blowing bits of ice

In a vortex, from the vortex.  

My hands are frozen bricks,

Brilliant, blue skies

Empty and cruel.  

Your overseer came for you:

Black tar

Blow

Blues, pink ladies

And you’re gone again.

But what are we,

Any of us,

Under this kind of sky?  

Nothing more than one

Of these slivers of ice

Swirling in an empty eddy.  

Only you

Can get away with your

Loving addiction  

And I stay chilled

In the barren grey.

Your Lady of Choice

At last

The fairytale of your docent love

Desists

And you stumble around

On the phone

Calling me profane things

Demanding your profane needs

While my jaw drops

In astonishment.  

All the things you say I am…

A selfish, greedy bitch

Hoarding my splendid riches

And now you must turn back

To your heroin rich bitches

And I’ll return to

Where I was.

Quite content

Without your love.

This Day....of all Days

If you spend your nights alone

Writhing in a bed, too comfortable

For one person

And eat dinner alone

On a table with four settings…

Valentine’s Day is a 24 hour

Exercise of loneliness and despair

If you spend your nights

Writhing in bed with someone

Who forgets to reach over

And touch you

And you eat your dinner alone

On a table with four settings,

Valentine’s Day is a 24 hour

Exercise of high expectation

And bottomless disappointment.  

If you spend your nights

Wrapped in a friction filled embrace,

And spend your dinners

On an embellished table

Set with glorious, blooming flowers…..

FUCK. YOU.  

Where Did it's Head Go?

I am on my lunch break Trying to fake The motions of eating my lunch But near to my left Lies a mottled black mess That bereaves me with each carrot crunch. This fly lying dead Missing it's head Causing me much consternation Throw my lunch in the garbage My mind wrapped in larvage Felling ill over death's bleak invasion.

She

Waiting for this Death

I do not feel you anymore.

Your thoughts are as distant

As the strange, eccentric shafts

Of moonlight.  

Your touch no longer

Animates my soul

But rather, seems foreign

And fragile; lackluster incantations.  

I wait for you in an empty room

With empty expectations.  

I wait for you

With a death bell clutched between my fingers

Furtively waiting

To ring in the death

Of this affair.