Misdemeanors

There's a new girl
who does
community service
at the thrift store
near my house.
She is a beauty:
blue eyes,
blonde hair
and high cheek bones.
I often wonder
how she got in trouble.
Was it drugs?
Theft?
Vandalism?
I see her
put away ornaments
the next aisle over.
Her hands are
delicate,
like a mannequin.
She walks past me
to the back
of the store.
I start to leave
and wander by
an old woman
pulling a cart
up to the counter.
I sigh, thinking
of how often
I come here.
The blonde and I
are both
prisoners
of this
ancient store front
in this
empty town.

Bark

I want to talk to her,
but I don't
have the guts,
so I stare intensely
into a cold mug
of beer.
The juke box
blasts pop music;
the crowd
sits around
and chain-smokes.
The noise
makes my heart
shake
in my chest.
I wish she
would look over
and talk to me,
slowly,
softly,
the way you
would talk to
a wounded dog
as you tried to
comfort it
back to health.

A House In Pasco County

Past strip malls,
past palm trees,
out past
a crumbling cemetery,
we pull into
this oil stained driveway.


The door opens;
cockroaches scatter
across the carpet.
A television blasts
music videos
in the corner.


We call up girls;
no one answers.


We drink until
3 a.m.
and listen to
Eddie Cochran
on a cheap
plastic stereo.


We talk like maniacs
about things
we'll never do.


Outside,
in another town,
something big
is happening.
I can just
feel it.


I close my eyes
and let the vodka
sink
way down
inside.

Two A.M. Poem

I walk through
a parking lot
at 2 a.m.
and see two young men
hand a cigarette
back and forth.
There is a full moon;
I'd like to
howl out
into darkness
like a wild animal,
but I can't
seem to move my lips.
I walk home,
alone,
in silence.
I crawl into
an empty bed
and think of
the shape
of your lips.
Are you lying
in bed
alone
out there, too?

Land Of The Free

We stood on a dock
at midnight;
the four of us were drunk
and chain-smoking
Camel Lights.
The girls looked like
magazine advertisements
and the boys stood tall,
trying to look tough.
We passed around
a bottle of cheap vodka
and talked non-stop
as the pale moon
hovered over our heads.
There were no problems then:
no lost years
had passed us by.
The world seemed wide open,
waiting for us to conquer it.
A shooting star
passed through the sky
and disappeared in the distance.
I'm going to live forever,
I thought to myself.
I'm going to live forever.

The Waiting

I wake up mid-day
with a headache.
My hair is greasy and
my eyes are red.


I walk outside
and yawn
under a bright
afternoon sun.


I scratch my stomach,
walk inside
and daydream
as I stretch out in bed.


A million
crazy thoughts
ramble through
my jagged mind.


I wait for the phone
to ring;
no one ever
dials the number.


As the sun goes down,
I walk to A.A.
After the meeting,
I sit online
for hours.


Before bed,
I look at myself
in the mirror.
My skin is dry;
my eyeballs feel
like they are sinking
into my skull.


I'm waiting for you
to come back
home.

Venues

Those girls
at the punk shows
in the late 90's
always looked
so good:
pink hair,
tight shirts,
and Converse All-Stars.
They seemed
so glamorous
standing near
the stage.
I could never seem
to capture their
attention.
They were always with
vicious,
tattooed,
muscular young boys
in leather.
I would sit in the crowd,
chain-smoking
cheap cigarettes,
just watching,
just waiting,
as the band
played on.

Knife

She went through me
like a sharp diner knife;
when I looked down at my chest
there was no heart left.


You should have seen it,
it was like a horror movie:
chunks of blood and bits of gore
strewn all over my room.


I tried to hang on to the pieces,
but they were sliced apart.
She had completely
rammed through me.


Nothing remains inside
after a person goes through you like that.
All you can do is get up, slowly,
and wander away.


"Why did you do this to me?" I asked her.
She stared at me with big doll eyes.
"Because I could," she said
as I backed into the darkness.

Out Into It

It's a chaotic world,
full of cars,
bikes,
trucks belching out exhaust
and buses carrying people
to minimum wage jobs.
The faces come
in all different forms:
some scowling,
some happy,
some staring down at the ground.
Small children
clasp adult hands;
old women
push shopping carts.
A rich man drives by
in a shiny black BMW.
The people are
angry,
joyful,
bored,
sullen
and everything in between.
Aging drunks
sit in front of the bar
gulping down cheap beer.
Young girls walk by
in orange bikinis
on their way to the beach.
It's a strange,
loud,
crazy world.
I light a cigarette
and walk out into it.

Monday Morning Heat

Seagulls dive
in and out of the sky.
The blazing sun
radiates down on
the skin of my cheeks.
It's a lazy Florida day:
no work, no money
and no direction.


I walk along a causeway
and notice
beer cans
lying in the sand.


I pass a pretty blonde
in a hammock.
She smiles at me
and waves.
Cool breeze
passes through
my unwashed hair.


The wind is strong;
sea waves crash against
cement blocks.
Cars drive
up and down,
heading for the escape hatch
of a crowded beach.


I turn around
and walk back.
On the way,
I see a beat up
old car
with a homeless couple
sleeping
in the front seat.


I wander home
and contemplate
this beautiful
wasteland.