Woodchips scratch the inside of my knees. My hair is covered in dirt. “I love you,” I say.
My shoulders are pinned down on an oilcloth motel sheet. Your sweat drips on my face; my eyeliner’s running. ”I love you,” I say.
We eat cereal for breakfast. You’ve got a hangover from the night before. You owe me fifty bucks. Still, I love you.
The second time you get drunk, I can’t even cry. Still, I tell you I love you.
1. Wear sour-smelling pajamas for at least two days. Don’t take them off.
2.Spend sleepless nights watching reality TV reruns.
3. Ruminate about your pitiful life.
5. Stare at the TV until you stop thinking about your pitiful life.
6. Feel mildly comforted by your disgusting pajamas.
7. Feel disgusted by your comfort.
Ballet exercises in the
Morning. Studying in the
Water all day.
She makes an excuse
Not to eat her pasta.
“You always were a princess,”
Nights- writing letters
To an older boyfriend.
Staring out the window.
Mostly I just lay there
And waited for an orgasm
To magically descend
Skinny-dipping in the pool
The boys and waterguns behind the trees.
Long hair floats up in the water.
The boy comes from behind,
Jumps to the fence.
“Actae’s a fag!”
The boys turn the guns on him.
the same songs
The Science of Too Much
Late nights are spent wandering the dark rooms of the apartment
Cupping a tumbler of bourbon. Step lightly on the floorboards
As to not wake your lover. The kitchen table is littered
With dirty dishes, food wrappers, poorly done collages.
The mornings come blearily with a potfull of coffee
And awkward goodbyes. Clothes, makeup, out into the cold
For another day. Life is the thin ice underneath
Your shoes; it fractures into infinite patterns.
To My Friend
I’ll never know
What’s in your head.
Chattering to you
And I just let
Crickets and car engines
Fill the air
New Year’s Day
He stared out the window at the snow and snuffed out his cigarette in a too-full ashtray. The pale sun was finally coming up and casting sharp shadows of the pile of dirty dishes against the kitchen table. “I’m alone,” he realized, as he leaned back in the wooden chair.
Five Scenes about You
The woman on the train says,
“Your hair is the same color.”
You grab a strand of mine and compare.
We sit on a park bench.
It’s early November. Your jeans
Make a scratchy sound rubbing against my tights.
Your hands are big and never
Cold. I hold them up to warm
My face when I come inside to see you.
I lean against you, my knees
Tucked in between my chest and yours.
“You look so small like that.”
The day after you leave, I find
Long red hairs in my bed. Mine
Or yours? I don’t change my sheets for weeks.