Friday, December 25, 2009

I'm purging existing memories, watching suns rise from trolley stops along empty avenues home. My chapped lips tremble in pain with each gust of wind that finds my face. Giving personality traits to inanimate objects, I blame them for mine. There's a comfort that warmth doesn't offer. That winter is the most loyal season. Loyal to disappoint and hurt.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009


I'm leaning against the telephone pole and watching the mist dance with the street light. Humming along to the sounds in my blown out headphones, I catch eyes with the cars that drive by. They welcome me back to my past and show what I've missed all this time: The comfort of cold air, wet asphalt, and late nights. The purr of a bus just started up, the smell of exhaust and rain, the possibility I'll miss my next bus on my way home. There's a beauty in these thoughts. There's life in our past that we sometimes forget.

Friday, August 7, 2009

whiskey bender

a nervously given frown. she looked up and smiled as i bought another round. she pushed my hair to the side and said she'd never seen such lonely eyes. i remember what it felt like to hold her hand. her fragrent hair upon my chin. the touch of her lips upon my cheek. the embrace of her arms around my spine. my eyes will never be this lonely again.

Monday, May 18, 2009

5496 3971

My age fights my interests almost everyday. What can bars offer that can't be offered by back yards and public parks? Either way, the condensation will wrinkle our fingers. I guess I'm jaded on getting wasted and forgetting faces.

no subject

I'd rather die alone than live with an understood vision of love.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Reminiscing Richmond

I was playing quarters in a Port Richmond bar after hours while finishing out the final stretch of sad songs on the juke box. Underage, I was watching patrons faces swell and wrinkle with each drag they took. I skipped the 2:30 bus to have a few more drinks with a few less friends than the night started out with. We payed our tabs, and grabbed a few forties and stumbled our way back to Earl's house where I found myself smoking joints in the backyard, and watching Pat devour an 8ball off the dining room table. The wind was frail that summer. The drugs were just the same. They weren't the strongest things we had, but we didn't need them to keep us warm.