Fingers Crossed

i was drinking
excuse me, writing
and you came up
i mean, across 
my thoughts
as i crossed a t
and then again when i dotted an i
i'm too far gone to tell lies...
you're crossing all the time
like x's in my mind
'cus i can't erase this story
or even finish the chapter
flipping through the pages
searching for a period


we blame it on the heart
but i question the head
what is it that makes me love 
the way you spell 
almost every word wrong
even though you're always reading?
what makes me miss
the smell 
of your newspaper palms 
after you finished the crossword at night?


science doesn't theorize 
about the infinite nuances 
that go unnoticed 
until someone burns the book
and only a myth remains


at night i lie awake
writing scripts on my pillows
of what i'd say
if we crossed paths
presidential speeches
articulately addressing 
all the different ways
you let me down


this time last year
i couldn't get enough
you were busy chasing dreams
on a highway of hopes
but unlike everyone else
yours all came true
and i sat in that sidecar
gazing up at you eagerly
as your dust blinded the others 
i was safe in your peripheral vision


i'm not sure when i knew
but i know that i liked 
how you pronounced my name
never saying the actual word
but rather nick-naming me with noises
and i loved how all the boys would
look your way
yet you'd be oblivious 
and say, "will you hold my hand?"


and your eyes held the innocence of snow globes
with big cities inside
populated with more ideas
than a hummingbird's beating wings 


but one mustn't be fooled
because you could
one up
slam dunk
sucker punch 
anyone
with your quick tongue


indeed it's no secret
that everyone plays second string
to that litigious diction
but your punishments lasted but a day
because you love like mother nature
always flashing beauty
quickly after storms
so no one remembers your wrath


i wish i remembered your wrath
yesterday when you came across my mind
as i was crossing t's 
and dotting i's
because now i'm up tonight
writing scripts on my pillows
so if we cross paths
i have something better to say than, 
"will you hold my hand?"

Vicious Circularity

giving up one thing

for another

and calling it 

rehab

a machine

living off puffs 

of poison 

and caffein 

reciting sermons 

by heart

with no heart

as uncertain as that

three-legged

pedestal 

teetering underneath your 

borrowed shoes

everybody's waiting for january 1st

to lie to themselves again

standing in the refrigerator light at midnight

swearing that Monday will be different

waiting until 5

to pour 

that glass of wine

makes you think

you got it all

figured out

and getting on 

your knees

to preserve that 

promise ring

is a paradox

you've come

to condone

but no matter which way

you skin

the cat

the by-product

of your every 

passion

whim 

and act

somehow seems to will

its own downfall

everybody's waiting for halloween

when did we loose touch with our own identity

worshipping the egos of the profits on tv

instead of the voices in our heads