Poem: 2000


Face up and all I see are stars

and stripes. Sweat dripping from my brow

like Bubbles’ blue eyes onto the

sizzling asphalt; I think of you.


With hands made of diamonds and

blood you crush tin cans just for the

hell of it and to hear a crunch.

It sounds like biting on tinfoil

bacon; I remember it well

and the time when I had my legs

draped over your wet, slick shoulders.

We were chicken and my head cracked

from the fall. Iron syrup oozed

and I didn’t know it was me.


You raced cars down Walnut Rd. and

I would watch with a bowling ball

pounding in my chest and choking

on the exhaust you left behind.

I’d choke too on cigarette smoke,

and I loved the second hand high.

You’d bring the roasted tobacco

to your lips and I was jealous.

You could have used me in this way.

You could have used me for a fix.


Your skin leathered prematurely

because of your bizarre beliefs

to not protect yourself from light,

but the sun is just more than light.

On our last trip to the dunes you

were sliced open by a jagged

rock. With teeth clenched on a dense stick,

Trip stitched it up with fishing line.

I watched the plastic glisten while

you were threaded together again.


Now back in this damned town, haunted

and sickened by the things that put

me here. Gas tank empty of an

escape and pockets hungrier

than me, so I give up this time.

Flirted my way into getting

some free ice cream and I’m laying

on the mayor’s shitty lawn chair,

watching everything melt on the

sizzling asphalt; I think of you.


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