07.28.10

those shredders still haunt the air

dark, foreign,

near

a haunting deserving of bars and thorned black locks

skin, hair,

that dark corner under your bed

your bed

our bed

your bed

bed

sparked cardboard, my fingers

shred

early November '09.

back to when our dates were chaperoned and your hair waved long

over museum hand-held excuses, an ocean of bloody coral reef rippling, bubbling

between our new palms

under borrowed sheets, quietly testing their courage, circling

the swans you conquered that night by the bay

when i was less worried about old hearts,

better, then,

gentle, as how to best hold yours

07.12.2010.

cause games make us copy,

but this,

this,

this is all

us.

near bqe kitt.

Biting marijuana sweat off of Brooklyn boy pits,

Cat, I don't remember your name,

but I think your capable knee pads suit you fine.

"Bus Stop 3"

click.

click.

click.

click.

click.

click.

and she continued sitting on the ledge by the fence,

...

click.

unbending, click. click.

patient. click click click click.

pursing her bruised, click,

bloody, blue old lips.