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White noise

Writing was the way out

like reading the sunday

paper for some

forgetting all the things

around you and then

realizing the toast was

burning and the fire

alarm had been going off

for a full five minutes

before knocking the

goddamn thing off the wall.

And then pulling up the

paper during these little

indiscretions of life

to forget it all again.

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Words unsaid

Curiosity killed

the cat,

but loneliness

killed the man.

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Early morning

We were supposed to wake

up together

but she wasn't there.

The sun shined through

the window and I was alone.

A matchbook laid

upon the dresser.

New. Plain. White.

Letters written on one side

"Until next time."

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Half naked on a Sunday.

She didn’t have pants on and neither did I. She laid there in bed watching t.v of our studio apartment when I stood in the doorway in my t-shirt and underwear. “Come inside already! You’re standing there in your underwear, swinging free!” “It’s breezy baby, It’s free. I feel as free as can be.” I told her.

“Well come be free inside, open a window or something.” She said. “That isn’t free, you can’t even feel the wind blow past you, it’s a cage with an opening for the cat to crawl through.” I stood there and I was proud, who could say they stood there in the open free as I. No one

Everyone was inside or at work or driving home from picking their kids up. “The neighbors are gonna yell at you and complain again.”She said. “I don’t care baby. This is freedom, this is why the pilgrims came over from England and the Irish hopped a boat to New York, for a chance like this.” I said.

“You know damn well that isn’t true.” “Well maybe it isn’t but we can’t ask them, they’re all dead.” She didn’t get it, she wasn’t standing here with me but if she was, she’d know. She didn’t care that I was standing there, she was worried about all the bugs and feral cats that came around.

That’s what the window was for, they’d come in one way and go out the other. “I know what you’re worried about but it’s not summer anymore. The mosquito’s and cockroaches and cats and mailmen, they’re all gone. You won’t see them until next year.” I said.

“I know you tell me that but I always see them, sometimes I do, sometimes I see them.” She told me. “They’re gone, they aren’t a problem anymore. We only have to worry about your in-laws now.”

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The Strangest of Places.

I’m desperate for love

and I know I won’t find it at the bottom

of an empty bottle

or in conversation

or even in the one I care for most.

I’ll probably find it in the bottom of a river

or at the grocery store

but I won’t find love here

no, I must go out and look for it.

I’ll find it there because