said about

there’s no love song
like the boy
who opens your car door.

who stands when you enter the room.

the boy who puts a warm hand
to the small of your back
as you go through
the revolving door.

that’s the boy who says
whatever happens
whatever it takes
i’m there
i’m yours
and we’re in it
together.

it’s a simple thing
but that’s a boy
i could let in.

forget the love songs,
babe, let them
blow by
like the empty wind
they are.

there’s no love song
like the boy
who lights your smoke
because he’s
just
that
way.

you came over
when you wanted.

you got
what you came for.

you left
when you wanted to.

and you tell me
you felt trapped?

please.

the only thing trapping
you
was that i wasn’t going to
pay for your pleasures,
finance
your life.

i’ve got my
own life
to pay for, a hell
of an installment
plan, between
god and me.

so go away
and figure out
how to pay down
the principal on
your own
damn mistakes.

when a man gets angry
because a woman
won’t give him
money
he says
“trapped.”

fuck that.

i’ll pay my own way
and you can
mourn
the chance you had
to buy some
quality.

“got two kids,” he says. “i tell
them, you gotta man up,
you know. Be a man.”

he swipes the tampons
over the UPC reader
and grins. “they think
it means being tough.”

i nod. he doesn’t
even notice what
he’s ringing up.

“my wife, she tells
me they won’t get
it until later. says
it’s life.”

i watch him bag
my girly groceries.
“i think that’s true,”
i finally say. “most
guys are 14 forever.”

“who wants that?” his
gold tooth flashes.
“see, girls, they got to
grow up. boys, some
times their mamas,
they keep them from
growing. wash their
socks instead of
saying, wash your
own.”

yeah, emilio the checker,
he works two jobs.
he always has a smile.
if he’s working he’s
getting paid.

they live in my
complex.

and i never tell
emilio about the
guy his wife
lets in at 6 a.m
when emilio leaves
for the morning shift.
a real tough guy
in baggy pants
and neck tattoos.
she opens the door
and glances out;
a pretty woman
with dark eyes.

i could be wrong
so i keep my mouth
shut.

but i always go through
his line
and tell the manager
what a good guy he is.

christ.

i told him
that i loved you
as hard as i could
and it wasn’t enough.

he said
“some people just
have holes inside.
all the love runs
out, or vanishes.
it’s a hat trick
only the rabbit
is a black hole.”

we sat there for a few
moments. the nightlight
glowed.
and then i poured
him another drink.

“you’ve earned this one,” i said.

i couldn’t
love you hard enough
to help you
love yourself.

you were determined
to turn into them,
those people
you said you hated.

i tried my best. i
loved you like a hurricane
i loved you
like a rock. i took
each hurdle the way
a horse jumps,
committed fully.

but now
i balk.

you have
lied
cheated
stolen the things i would have given gladly.
you have thrown away
the best fucking
thing
that ever happened
to you.

yeah.
hope that was
what you wanted.
i hope
you got
what you needed.

if you wanted
to break every
shred of love
i felt for you

congratulations.
you’re a success.

sleep
like a rock
like a river
like a baby.

we can’t say
what sleep is
we just
talk around the
lack of it
or envy those
with no lack.

you told me
in the army
you learned
to sleep wherever
and whenever you
could.

i believe it.

what i also
believe
is that you never
woke back up.
it wasn’t sleep
you learned the
trick of, it was
waking you forgot.

i tried
everything–

tickles
pinches
shouting
loving
fearing
stamping
fire
flood
earthquake

but i was
only one of
those pesky
dreams.

now you’re sleepwalking
somewhere else.

and me?

i never lost
the trick of
wakefulness.
when they bury
me, i’ll still
be watching.

oh, sleep
sleep like
whatever
sleep is like.

i don’t trust you.
that’s why
i wait for dawn.

dear virgin,

let’s talk.

we have it kind
of rough
down here.
we just can’t seem
to stop hurting
ourselves
and everyone
and everything else.

i’d ask your intercession
but look how well that turned
out the first time.
i’d ask you to explain,
but that language
barrier, it’s pretty
high, and your bossdaddy
has this thing about
vengeance for questions.

so there’s nothing, really
except sometimes
i look at the nightlight
your painted face
those blue robes
your calm smile
and i want to smash you
and i want you to hold me
all at once.

i don’t know how
you could help.
maybe i’m better off

just lighting another smoke
and talking to
a goddamn nightlight
while i wait for
dawn.

grab the keys
get in
let the dust roostertail
as the pedal hits the floor

every woman knows
the feeling. to be
gone, to vanish,
to head for that
horizon. every
woman thinks it.

they think men
do all the leaving.
what they don’t know
is why
we choose
so often
to stay.

but not her.
never again.
no brakes
don’t need them
just the
steering wheel
and the hum
of tires.

the woman
who runs
is the one
you’ll never
hit again.

if i could put spikes up
in front of my house
i would.

just to make the bastards
slow down.

they roar through here
bass thumping, car
weaving, and boys yelling.
sometimes it’s blondes on cell
phones, yapping away
while piloting tons
of metal.

the city won’t
put speed bumps in
until someone dies
probably one of the kids
playing on their bikes
skateboards
or whatever.

spikes. if i could
i would. as it is
i ill-wish them

and wait for a
crash.

so i’m alone.

it’s not so bad. i
wake up in the
morning and i have
only my own mess
to clean up.

i leave
and i don’t have to tell
anyone where i’m going
or when i’ll be back
or no you can’t come
fine, okay, you can
just stop hurting me.

i don’t have to
lay awake at night
wondering who you’re with
and why,
wondering when you’ll
need a bed or meal
again and rediscover
you love me.

you stole from me
each time you said
you loved me.
you didn’t have to.
i would have given
so much, just for
the asking.

but now
i wake up alone.
as mercies go
it’s small
but it’s mine.

and i’ll keep it.