sunshinesalesman

Tell me,
when you looked in that camera,
did you imagine it was me?
Sending a secret message from your volunteer prison you'll
be in for a while
with that
little man who nips at your ankles and begs you for
food every night?
Who else saw you cry?
Screaming something
at nothing, then laughing to music and dancing in my
now electric soul.
You told me,
in the full night void,
that you couldn't think of anything that would offend me
and looked at me like i had achieved something, while my face
unwittingly wonders who the hell you could possibly be and how
every man who you've come in contact with
endures
what they would do for you
just to save them.
Why weren't they all crowded
in that car with us, yelling over each other -- no.
soft silence
and
bliss.

The rapture wind through the windows. our hair.

Poetry left when you left,
myself still gone, looking at pictures of her and then
you, with that "i already cheated on her once, i guess
i shouldn't do it again, that would
be kind of fucked up",
bullshit --
my diabetic conscience (too much
sweets),
occasional comas,
nostalgia is death.


The Fear.


I woke up to your solemn
voice on the phone and Adam's groaning replies, heavy with sleep.
I saw your longing mouth, forming the words.
I saw you chasing
the wind in that glowing green Berkeley spot
face reflecting the sun, arms out,
your smile.
The place where the waves play music and no one
goes.