the little man who Wasn't there
i woke up every morning in a bed
stained with loneliness and abandonment
behind a face
soiled with the absence of tears
to a life
long ago turned stale
i watch in awe the pedagogish parade of the women who have gone before,
those who did not find the happiness i seek
anna stands proudly, holding a waxy tower that once held the wick of her life
edna empties sand and shells from her water-logged shoes
dolly, delores, Lo. has escaped one hell and plunged
into another
hestor hands me the bloody sheets, the shape of her character cut from the center
A crimson reminder of past transgressions
these women have made my mistakes for me
imperfect reminders of the price of perfect happiness
a plastic placemat infused with
STARS and STRIPES
tumbles down the road caught in the rip tide
of intermittent cars burning oil in pursuit
of instant gratification
my skin is taught beneath the dried ejaculation
i stretch and twist, feeling it catch and crack
a private personal reminder of the early morning revelries
the dirty secret of you that i carry around all day
counting my lucky stars
in your Eyes
I woke up this morning in a bed
that wasn’t mine
behind a face
I didn’t know
to a life
I hadn’t created
and today, I weep
I’ve never before known this happiness that is such a burden
it is a relief to cry
stained with loneliness and abandonment
behind a face
soiled with the absence of tears
to a life
long ago turned stale
i watch in awe the pedagogish parade of the women who have gone before,
those who did not find the happiness i seek
anna stands proudly, holding a waxy tower that once held the wick of her life
edna empties sand and shells from her water-logged shoes
dolly, delores, Lo. has escaped one hell and plunged
into another
hestor hands me the bloody sheets, the shape of her character cut from the center
A crimson reminder of past transgressions
these women have made my mistakes for me
imperfect reminders of the price of perfect happiness
a plastic placemat infused with
STARS and STRIPES
tumbles down the road caught in the rip tide
of intermittent cars burning oil in pursuit
of instant gratification
my skin is taught beneath the dried ejaculation
i stretch and twist, feeling it catch and crack
a private personal reminder of the early morning revelries
the dirty secret of you that i carry around all day
counting my lucky stars
in your Eyes
I woke up this morning in a bed
that wasn’t mine
behind a face
I didn’t know
to a life
I hadn’t created
and today, I weep
I’ve never before known this happiness that is such a burden
it is a relief to cry