{buckle down.}

it's time to drink. we've bunkered down with beer. burnt by the cold. i've got an agenda. it's the friday night cuddle-up. with me and my booze. we're fanning away all the lost thoughts that seem to rise up. this drunk kid keeps telling me how beautiful i am.

{my kid.}

[9.24.07]

never in my wildest dreams. speak easy. calm down. don't take a nap. in the hot heat bath water. daydreaming about today and tomorrow. and all the finer things. separating the mother and the father. keeping them close. and calling out. surrounded by strangers, feeding them dinner, letting them talk. to you and the time. having a midnight stroke, face half swollen, ears popping. spider bites and full-blown aids. everyone speaks of loosing love. everyone has theirs. i have mine. it's gone. let's forget about it. i don't want to hear it. there is far too much talk of things that don't matter. don't make it worse. you are making it worse. when i am doing the dishes in the morning. making recommendations. being playful and disregarded. by hangovers and unbathed babies. be so gentle as to not care. there are no men anymore. just the remnants of this idea i concocted when i was thirteen. it resonates sometimes when i watch films. when my eyes wander across the street. there is no one. anywhere.

{so who is this again?}

cleaning tirades. the focus keeps shifting onto the less important things. like the cupboards. and what's in them. and how. the rices goes in between the beans and the flour. tea on the bottom shelf, as it is most often used. easy access is key. initially i was hungry. and searching for food somehow translated into tearing the kitchen apart. finding cake mix. i should bake a cake. and make some pies. not for my own consumption, but for the sake of productivity. i had an agenda once. a list of things to do. i lost it somewhere along the line.

today is overcast and cold. my roommate is stoned and giggling. i glance at her, and she tells me to shut up.

i keep daydreaming. mostly about sex. but only with imaginary people. who don't exist. i didn't take my vitamins today. i should do that.

not that i want to have sex at all. the level of intimacy i might be able to conjure would be equivalent to shaking hands. and i don't want to fuck. or be fucked. the notion disgusts me.

{looking good for nothing.}

wearing high heals around the house for hours. while doing the dishes, dancing and singing with too much conviction for silverware to stand. sporting clip-on pearls and a strapless black dress laden with cigarette burns. done up like a novelty dude ranch in alaska. these hands were made for dangling fake wedding bands. and at night, after a few cocktails and enough cigarettes to make your grandmother jealous, crawling into bed to write down the momentary notions you have about love. the nothings you never had about love. you could write letters with a quill and the wet mascara bleeding from the underneath of eyes. it so so sad. so you write it down. do your nails. and go to sleep dreaming about some russian man you made up. falsely wandering through the fabricated world, the one seen in the second-hand copies of national geographic, and getting attacked by wolves. you fell to pieces. and now search the closets, cabinets and cupboard drawers, scour the pots and pans, for someone to really love you. with such an equivalent love. enough to drive you into a madness. someone who understands, and finds your neurosis to be endearing.

{...}

i am very tired. this feeling keeps taking over.

{teach you how to drink.}

the night always slows down
to an internal rumble
between every thought

i am slowly ceasing
with every cigarette
and the bottle bleeds within me now
around four o'clock

it seems
i want it so badly
to continue making efforts
towards not existing

forget to weep
sleep in silence

but before the inevitable crumble into dreams
i make a bed of booze
and write down little saying
wonder where the phrases come from

the men try to take my things
i walk away disappointed
wanting them to have bloodied me up
leave me as less than i was before we met
give me something to suffer for
i make the best things when i am sad

we speak
and i always say too much
as i've been drinking
been downing the bottles again
even when in poverty i cling
to the stink
and think to myself
i haven't had enough tonight
to please my sorry heart
there is much to be done

and as i said
i loved you still
even when you woke
to the differences within yourself
i loved each one
and every thought
all the sadness that you uttered
in your moments
next to me in bed and drunk
you taught me how to drink
but only after absence