2.27.2011

like the brim of a tequila shot
the tears ran salty that night.

fingers fluttering something beatiful
if only there had been a keyboard to interpret
...
these railroad boots march to a drum only audible through the laces
and today is like all the other cases.

organic floor of pine needles is a cushion
just a pretty smelling way that
time takes it's toll and it keeps on pushing.

your name hung around the moon softly like it's halo

the snowflakes danced down with gravity
humming in your voice

i don't hear this but I feel it in the railroad boots.

and my steel toe grows colder
and all our wise men are getting older

and the young men dream dreams
that make them split at the seems

now it's only you and the moon
in this forest confessional

trying to speak in a smoke singnal ring
your choked up and your throat is to sore to sing

could be you or it could just be the beer
or maybe your boots have taken you here

and that's the only reason why

'cause the boots can't move.

not like you and the sky.

2.26.2011

wreckless and fear of abandon.

like a student without a hall pass in this school of the moment.

the words escape me and my tounge is tied up in the silk of left over heart strings.
...
cooked rare and bloody.

Bouncing off the ropes trying to find a word yet to be defined.

you are a student in this crushing life. alongside me.

please forgive me

I am just a student too and I can't help starring out the window.

2.25.2011

"there is vomit by the toilet." I warn her. "i just didn't want you to have to clean it up."

i use these words like a mason jar.
the words I can't say I try to imagine them and put them in this for you.

...  in the vase of these words of warning.

 I imagine each one polka dotted and odd number petal.

"the vomit. it's not mine."

"oh no is it bad?"

"yeah. you can tell what the guy ate."

"gross. well thanks for telling me. It's before the new guy just went home."

I have driven out of my way. a thousand miles out of the way.

no. fuck that.

it was further.

from the moon or mars- whichever is the one that's further

I had to arm wrestle andre the giants ghost on the way back from the

milky way.

i had to face a firing squad.
wrote your name on my last cigarette.

tamed the wild stallion that i rode in out of town.

paratrooped with jimi hendrix

I have dranken a baptismal fount so the holiness can course through my venis.

thinking that maybe on some world out there I could be buried next to you one day.

not for a while. if the good lord sees fit.

I have out shot every outlaw between us.

spinned on the corkscrew with every bottle that drawed to get in my way.

busted my chin on your pool table.

chipped my teeth on my pride on the way down

to warn you about the partially digested pizza or spaghetti. something with a lot of marina.

(uh.... it was watered down a lot too. but not by water. by beer.)

and it was worth it.

2.11.2011

the reciever smelled like coffee beans grounded.
and the black sky was slow at first but reflected now at the bottom of the tin or the reflection i was in.

down to the warts on my heart- i was cold.

... warmed by your voice
waltzing down the yarn of your telephone cable.

the comb of your voice sweetened by the honey of your laughter.

it's good talking to you again.

casting grace on every shooting star.
a book of matches and two of them gone.

there is silence on the night around me.
and I confuse the smoke of the cigarette with the exhaled air.

I remember you like the february snow longs to be ice cubes in july lemonade.

2.1.2011

kick with me at the rusted sleet in the corner of the sleeping giants eye.

make a raft out of hallow dreams and wishes that died from green house gases before they left sight of our planet.

maybe our aim was off- cast upon former super nova black holes. posing for stars like centerfolds.

make the raft and push it off in the sea of the current of the moment.

drown if you must.

pause if you can.

if you lost the remote- flip over the cushions- check your pockets .find a pocket watch (how fitting) floating around like the moon
to the left of your zippo pocket.
it's four hours until closing time

wear your shot glass like a monocle
tint neon signs that back drop fogged up windows.

it's february out there and everywhere.
and the air is dry.

falling snow claims hydration for your pores
and the days above freezing just melt the frozen tears that felt comfortable sleeping in the gutter

step outside with me and tobacco stain the rocky mountians of your teeth.

laughing like a giant in her sleep.

cussing like a sailor on shore leave
praying like a soldier in a fox hole.

petting dog tags like rosarys.

strangers we thought wanted to shake our hands were only reaching for their wallets.
"we're not the bouncers, man."
everybody's got something to prove.

spit the nicotine out of my mouth
i told myself i was going to quit but the holidays get me everytime.