broke down tries of lesser than

you cry a bucket of grey skies filling my heart like kansas state torrential rains. you downpour tears while we pour down bottles of ninety-nine percent proof, howling at the moon and its fucked how fast eleven at night can turn into regrets at noon. you're a fucking fake, we're all fucking fake because we avoid the mutter of real names, realness reminds us of bullshit we hate. her strawberry hair wraps around the nothings in the wind like fresh bed sheets on the clothes line in this growing storm. beat back by a breeze brought on by darkening clouds the woven cotton dances away its memories of sex and love and all that we hold dear and the cold makes us shudder and we run to close these shutters. but its too late and the staircases and hallways and closets of your rib cage hollow out their insides and you spill your guts like furniture and picture frames on boulevards after hurricanes. you'll pick through your wreckage, stacking timbers next to tear drops, hoping no one saw too much beneath that crumbled facade. and i'd help out but i'm all out of smokes and got tired of hiding behind those bricks and mortar ages ago.  

what if i knew you when we were younger

for the shipwrecked sailor you are a heart that is an anchor. a worthy tie down in a storm that is never ending (but with a hope that you are, perhaps, its ending). you are a house set on fire, a heart ready to burst. something which has no right in happening but an anomaly which has burnt down these insides. you expect more but with so much distance i just knock on the nearest door. some small talk about the weather, or whether or not i would rather you among her, this, that, or something more. and at arms length we try to share a heart beat, and you claim you grew up swallowing handfuls of emptiness, but whats worse is i grab some type of bullshit closeness to fill these gaps. well i have what i remember, and that's more than most.      

ionization glow surrounds

"to fall from a window is terrifying,
                    but to fall to the rocks,
to the sea,
                     is a   poem."

a moment so short it was like a still frame in a three hour film, but this is no movie. your lipstick could have burned it's shape through skin, left behind on my bones for an anthropologist to tinker with, musing about their meanings. i fixed your jacket hood, as it was crooked and out of place, it meant i fucking like you (or maybe like, i wanna fuck you), although both of us were too drunk to notice it at the time. the weather conditions proved foul that night which made dismissing the closeness of our hands as we walked home quite easy, perhaps it was just for the sake of warmth. inside between cigarettes you tucked your toes up under my thigh, but maybe the room was just cold as well, you see it was still spring and i had left the window open. but we stood belly to belly and were able to trap some heat between ourselves, between my chest and your fragrance (i caught a hint of it at a party recently, it was not you). with this warmth we could have grown an elephant from an apple seed. and like a shitty self help book i will always remember that we are the architects of our own something er other or however it goes and no kiss was wasted.  

sleepy hallow

we are the yellow and brown leaves lying near the riverbank, just beyond my windowsill and hiding from sight. we catch the rain drops like little earthy tea cups, but that's just shitty imagery, it's much prettier when you catch the drops on your cheeks. i caught a fever once, it stuck me between reality and nowhere in particular, it destroyed my blood and chest and lips and left me dead for days, yellowing bones and a teetering stone grave. i remembered that night i let out a sigh and watched as it left through your lungs (more shitty imagery, this one of a kiss) and it was the prettiest damn thing i had ever heard, or felt, as your chest rose up just slightly and pressed against my palm. i'll tip toe my fingertips around your hips as the walls creak in the october wind. we jump back into bed, it's too cold to leave (leaf). our autumn will be made up of attics and blankets and tea and probably mittens, and costumes and stories of ghouls and ghosts and Ichabod Crane of course. but like those leaves, we fell to early, and would never last the season.

mountain goats, fault lines

down here where the heat's so fine
i'll drink to your health and you'll drink to mine
as we try to make the money we scored out in vegas hold out for a while
we drink vodka from russia, get our chocolate from belgium
we have our strawberries flown in from england
but none of the money we spend
seems to do us much good in the end
i got a cracked engine block, both of us do.

got a house, the jewels, the italian race car
they don't make us feel better about who we are
i got termites in the framework, and so do you.

down here where the watermelon grows so sweet
where i worship the ground underneath your feet
we are experts in the art of frivolous spending
it's gone on like this for years i guess
and we're drunk all the time, and our lives are a mess
and the deathless love we swore to protect with our bodies
is stumbling across its bleak ending
but none of the rage in our eyes
seems to finish it off where it lies
i got sugar in the fuel lines, both of us do.

and the fights, and the lies that we both love to tell
fail to send our love to its reward down in hell
i got pudding for a backbone, but so do you.

cold and ache

"lemons are forever as blue skies never change" or so is written on the bathroom walls in this wolseley bar, next to floyd's drawings of ten toes and my sharpie of a woman's shape. and, well, i wish i were the one but sure as shit i'm not (again and again) but it was a worthy chance taking. and i'll miss you seeing as i've let the dream go, but a chilled heart never warms up to such an empty bed, no matter the blankets and no matter the afterthoughts. will i be the man i wanna see at an age much older than twenty two, or three? or will i just be stuck in another place i don't wanna be, absent from the you's and me's. i don't think i will ever get it right, i don't wanna be free, i want to be a part of you and if you'd like you can be part of me. but i will always chose the wrongs and will have to start again. i'm more or less alive but neither makes me feel any more than just fine, and i'm made up of things that stop me from believing in anything (religion is shit and politics are useless) but i believe in the everything which is you. i believe in you. probably cause i like you. i definitely like you.