:x:

-I Am Still In 2 It-

Tonight we are going full-out, exploding drawings
which are made of pixels that are all the same color.

Do you still hate the casual nature with which I would
get That Look on my face
and tell you to stop with the drama.

We have reached an impasse and no more walls could ever come down
hard enough to crush the spirit I have
to go to bars for the drunken oblivion leading always
to the fumbling grasping of hands under blankets
while hippies stare and I seize the stereo
because I am yr bloody valentine.

I heard you say it once driving home
"I wish you weren't my goddamn bloody valentine."
You said it under yr breath and you didn't mean it
but somehow it made me think that we are always driving home.
And no amount of road can fill you or I up.

The gas station attendant looked at me with a mixture
of carbolic acid and Zinfandel wine
and I couldn't walk straight to the bathroom
where I stared at my hands
covered in sweat and sex.

Are we really this far gone
into the game of each other?

Now we dance around the rules which were always
the hidden images in the pictures you drew in yr secret journal,
some pages still taped together unfit even for my eyes.

I made a home movie of you the other night while you were asleep.
Yr eyes were twitching and yr image was blinking in and out of existence.

-The Girl Could Slow Coffins-

She has worked herself into crying
and she asks "Have I hurt you?" as the emotional equivalent
of sliding a razor across her arm.

The precision is admirable;
she's done this a lot.

But no, I'm not hurt, any more than I could be hurt
by the passing by of a dirty taxi at 3 in the morning
lost in the maze of NYC
looking for the hotel I dreamed of.

I've been walking for days. The air is dry
inside the throat of a swelling storm
ready to bury me in its rain and kiss me all night
with its lightning
until in the morning I wake up
in Switzerland or Zimbabwe,
shoeless and hiding behind dark glasses,
preaching to the next generation of sailors.

I have spent too much time in port,
I will say and laugh at the pun,
as the Concorde flies over us and neon signs flicker
and a young executive from Tokyo orders a drink.