Time to sink back
to the far side of the moon?
Nah, this soil will do.
So it goes.
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honest fiction
Fill me with whiskey,
I’ll spill some truth.
Fill me with time and no one,
and I have filled pages with reason.
Reason enough to explain the lies
I tried to convince myself true.
My most honest fiction, in truth
is all that I can do.
you’re ugly?
If you
can be
comfortable
with you’re ugly,
you can be
everything
they said
you weren’t.
old friend
I look at you
like an old friend
someone I haven’t talked to in a while
and with enough time together
you find it odd
how good it feels
to speak again, and again
in the morning and at night
I’m the lull of mid afternoon
taking pieces of my certainty that aren’t yours to have
leading me to remember, why
we stopped speaking
in the first place.
Though you know I’ll listen when you call.
I couldn’t be that cruel.
Freedom, by Jonathan Franzen
Next
to the Bible
in the Dollar Store
I pick up
Freedom, by Jonathan Franzen
tuck it
under my arm
and proceed to the cashier,
handing her a buck
she looks at me warmly
and says,
this is a good one, but
young man, have you read the Holy Bible?
heroine and Burroughs
Watch your soul.
I’d say tongue but I don’t harbor
the arrogance I once spewed.
Give me a break, like I dealt it
in cards, knowing you’d take the Ace.
I am only human, I have no other excuse.
I was scared of losing, most of all I was terrified that I could choose.
Does it feel good to see through me
like spotted glass, knowing your
windows are clean?
And why do I bother to even ask? It’s not you who hold the answer, I can see, it’s I who has stood
idle, waiting to turn the key.
So if you’re looking through the peephole, please don’t make a sound.
I can see your shadow quiver, mine quivers there too.
But I can’t turn that key with a lock full of gum.
Another way out then, ah, hum — there’s a pauper selling candy, eating pizza on 68th next to Sole — so I’m pretty sure we’ll meet again, like heroine and Burroughs.
Something that develops over time.
Neither one asks for it.
It’s something that develops over time.
Neither asks questions, either
when honesty is speaking.
your dying
Did you burn yourself out
like a flame wick under wax?
Or were you just here for the holiday?
Is that why you smelled vanilla?
I don’t have a match that’s long enough
to strike you from this far,
with another year upon us.
I just kind of smelled your dying.
an easy pill
procrastination is an easy pill to swallow
in the sense that one day
there won’t be any left to take
and tomorrow won’t ask anything of you
so in a morbid sense you’ve won,
or is it the other way around?
Her beauty
Her beauty was ultimately marred
by my incessant need for her beauty.
I wished to tell her she need not try so hard,
though knew this to be, ultimately futile.
I even coaxed her with a juicy red apple once,
just to slow her down.
But she explained fairly how she didn’t like apples,
or huntsman, but preferred mirrors
because they spoke to her in words
that were not forced but honest.
She looked at me and asked, is it so hard for a frog to see her beauty could never have the power to transform anything more than its own fading?
And that no kiss could stop time,
that fairy tales are real, but only the Grimm ones.
Let me show you, she said, and taking my lips in hers, sweet like berries
I watched her turn to dust through the stained glass light of morning.
Words Of An Average White Male 