liquid measurements

it's 54 in Newport

and the locals are dressed for snow

their insulated gloves 

grip ceramic mugs

full of 5 dollar foam

this place is a safe haven

for eye rolling

they are too wrapped up in 

cashmere and self loathing 

to ever notice me

ordering an ice coffee

on the 26th of December

if I wiggle my toes 

I can feel the last sandy whispers of summer 

shake free from the souls

of my sandals

and then you slip into my thoughts 

like white wash

slowly rolling in at first

but then in waves

a tsunami of 14 line sonnets  

that I've begged my mind

to un-memorize

sipping liquid life through a straw

that I've already bitten into submission

I watch the carbon copy aliens communicate 

through my foggy windshield

they are smoking

excuse me, choking

on cigarettes they don't inhale

dripping in name-brand nothingness

they emulate the rec-room at rehab

coffee, ciggs, and bullshit banter

their heads are balloons painted with promises

steadily filling with helium laced lies

worrying which one of their friends

holds the needle that will deflate 

their rubber dreams

and someone everyone knows

must be having a '60s moment 

on the cover of Vogue

because all the girls

are wearing fake flowers in their hair

ten feet of memories 

come crashing over head

when you made me laugh

daisies grew from my scalp

and eyes and ears

I was a bouquet of happiness 

watered by your quick whit

but the warmth of your presence 

was stolen by the seasons

and as green turned to grey

the petals browned

and lay wilted on my shoulders

so I plucked each stem from the soil of my mind

tied a ribbon around the dead memories 

and hid them in a shoebox 

under my bed

along with everything else

that reminded me of you

the lights are warm and wet

my pulse is the current

in a lazer-bean stream 

and

I'm jolted awake 

by the sudden spill 

of ice-cubes 

now permeating through my tank-top

I pillage through a bag of old clothes 

collecting mold in my backseat 

and pull a ripped flannel from the sea 

of things I've been meaning to throw away

slip out of my damp shirt

and back into the depths of you

with the touch of a dial

Bon Iver is dripping from the speakers

like a sweet opiate river

the purple noise inflates my car 

and becomes the life-ring I need to stay afloat

in the rough waters of reflection

stoplights look like jewels in the rain

rubies 

emeralds

canary diamonds

I never wanted diamonds

I have too many rings

my gypsy fingers didn't need adorning 

like Lennon said, "Just give me some truth"

people can't drive when its stormy here

so I'm even later to work than usual

slamming on my breaks I grab the wheel

with my free hand

which was busy gripping 

your shirt

rubbing the worn fleece back and forth

between my finger and thumb

which are now both muddy green

from the grass stains we acquired

at that festival sometime last April

the flashbacks come hailing down

thousands of angry ice stones

piercing through the skin 

of my life preserver 

until all the air escapes

and lifelessly

I sink back in time

this shirt was our pillow 

with the ground at our backs

we poked holes in black canvas 

so soft yellow light could leak through

and everyone called this stars

but you told them it was music 

and I mumbled something about love

whatever the name 

it got louder 

and stronger

until no black remained 

on the canvas

so we rose 

and started swigging fire water 

from a sunscreen bottle

when out of nowhere 

a stranger appeared 

drenched in a waterfall of white 

and handed you a note 

that read,

"plastic causes cancer."