Meditations (#1): Run, or Don’t Run

Run,
or don’t run.
I don’t care what you have done.
No one knows and nobody cares.
No one knows and nobody cares.
She’s the color of faded marigold and she stands upon the stair.
She smells like flowers and I can see her waiting there.
Run,
or don’t run.
I don’t care what you have done

The Prophet of Regret (#6)

I married her.
I know I did.
No one held a gun to my head.
I slept on couches for years, and looked out of windows at what was going by.

If you divorce me, you will pay me even after you are dead, she said.
I want a million dollars, she said.
The court-ordered mediator said No.
I still want a million dollars, she said
The judge said No.
I want a half-million dollars, she said
The court-ordered psychologist said No.
I still want it, she said.
The judge, again, said No.

I want a quarter-million dollars then, she said.

She still says this
from time to time,
to anyone who will listen,
but there aren’t that many who will.

Game Day

She hung her head.
She had failed again.
He was still breathing.
He opened his eyes. Was that a pillow?
Strange dream he thought to himself.
It’s like I couldn’t breathe.

Next time I’ll stab the fucker, she thought.
Fuck the sheets.
I’ll burn them after

“I love you,” he said.
“I love me too” she said.
“But you need to go. It’s for the best.”

He didn’t hear her.
He was thinking about the game that afternoon
Tailgating with the guys, having a good time.

Maybe Ray would bring his stripper girlfriend
Maybe she’d bring a friend, or
Maybe two friends, because that would be cool.

He said “Why don’t you go on and
Grab me a tallboy from the fridge,
It’s game day baby!”

She left the bed
To grab the tallboy,
Opening her phone to Google search.

“S-T-R-Y-C-H-N-I-N-E”
she typed while she walked.
There were 560,000 results.

Meme City

Spare me your sanctimony,
your treacle,
your half-wit’s wisdom
and your Twitter piety.
I want to see you cross the street,
just one fucking time,
without a mask,
in front of those motherfuckers in body armor,
in front of those other motherfuckers in masks.
I won’t blame you if you don’t do either.
I just want to see it.
I think I need to drink more, or have other, better vices.
I think I can do with less, a lot less, of everything else.
I need to look away from you, if only for a moment, if only for a day.

Strawberry Shortcake Forever

90 in the shade and it’s hot, so hot. I tell her:

I want you to put on panties, white cotton panties,
the ones with the little cartoon people on them.
I want you to walk around the block.
When you come back, take them off and give them to me.
I’ll put them in my mouth and
I’ll suck back every bit of that funky,
salty goodness
I can get.

But I don’t say that.
I turn back to the TV
and she goes back upstairs.
I don’t say anything to that either,

but,

there was a time.