31 August 2005
30 August 2005
three martinis tonight
end in wet kisses
my body betrays
his hips are familiar
I cannot say no
Spinning ceiling tiles
where does your body stop and
where does mine begin?
The sunshine makes three
white morning twisted bed sheets
hair a careless mess
24 August 2005
two dollars shoved under
my black paybook
the ones the other servers use
to do lines of coke in the bathroom.
I am not so naive
I know what goes on around here.
not a day goes by
without a man twice my age
asking me for my number.
I want to scream at them
‘I’m not a piece of ass,
I have two degrees!
I am going to teach at university
in a place you’ve never heard of
and then law school
without my daddy’s dime.
I have been halfway across the world and back.
I’ve made love in
do you think I care about your stuffy
law office or balding republican friends?’
but I keep my mouth shut
and take my two dollars.
at least I don’t have
a cocaine habit to support.
14 August 2005
they sizzle and pop when stepped on
my loose ends; his regrets my, loosen his regrets it all comes down to the fact that
I am completely
12 August 2005
He turned the keys in the ignition and the windshield wipers began moving fast across the glass. He turned them off; he sighed as he sank into his seat. He looked at her and her false eyelashes dangling from one eye. “Did you have a good time?” he asked.
“Yes. I hope I didn’t act too stupid” she replied, eyes still shut, slouched in the car seat.
“Maybe one less black Russian would have been better for you” he said. “Things were going fine until you started waxing poetic about the difference between freedom fighters and terrorists and how Louisa May Alcott changed the world."
She fluttered her eyes open. All the streetlights were big blurry balls of fuzzy light, whizzing past in fast fury. She looked at his dark curls and then closed her eyes again. “It was fun though” she said. “It was really fun.”
She remembered dancing in the apartment, admiring the large modern painting in the hall. She remembered sampling the babaganoush and loving the hostess' new eyeliner. The boys were getting high on the balcony. She tugged on the top of her new cocktail dress, allowing the strap to slip down her forearm. It started to rain again.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We are going home, kitten,” he replied. “I am taking you home.”
02 August 2005
“He sees us waving” said Charles’ mother as he made his way. Charles saw nothing. He had the sun in his eyes. By the time he got there, the cold had made a home. Time ran. The snow never melts without sunshine. The phone call said it all. A day after meeting with the U.S security council ambassadors, Charles’ father was diagnosed with skin cancer. Straight to the black tie he went.
They say “look around, one of the people sitting on either side of you won’t be here in 4 years”. you look. of course you look. but just looking is your first mistake. because its not just looking. and that’s what you learn. you learn about how looking was a mistake. and you can’t fix your mistake. you can look again and see what happens. you can try not to look anymore. you can look for meaning in the bottom of a martini. you can look for meaning in the bottom of many, many martinis. you can look at her eyes and their deep deep spark and crack. you can look out your window and see the light pollution from the too-big round lampposts, and fast cars and corduroy pants. you can turn pages and pages without looking at all. it is looking that is your mistake. it is looking that you have to do. its not a choice anymore. “did you look” everyone asks. everyone just wants to know how you look and what do you see. what do you see. what do you see? what do you see.