songs for weddings.

seeing god every time you makeout with a bar tramp.

do you remember the way it picked up?

from one corner of the wind pocket to the other,

eyes to the sky

and everyone else is in a world without windows.

do you remember when we picked you up?

from that grassy knoll and everyone else

shining teeth and ugly words!

And you kept saying,

"no, it's $10 for three. I didn't mean to say four on the phone."

and I just want the damn drugs.

the skin on your knuckles is cracked

the rest of you, soft.

do you remember when you rose up from that position?

"snake snake snake snake snake snakes snake."

I can still taste your arm around my shoulder

and you putting your hands on my throat and telling me,

"boys don't have to worry."

and then you kissed my forehead

so happy, I wanted to die.

wake up.

do you remember how our backs would bend when we would sleep on stairs?

fossilizing and forming and functioning and f*****g.

we were always f*****g each other

and you were always f*****g the <span>Other</span>

and I wasn't eating nearly enough

and we both were smoking too much

even though the only vapor you exhaled from your lungs

were dreams I had been collecting.

do you remember peppers, your blankets and drama cum drama?

"get on with ya, f*****s. now kiss me on the teeth."

what's in it for you? just answer that for me.

you couldn't possibly remember all of it.

licking my eyeballs, siphoning gas from old men in coats, trumpets, coke nails, your sister's bed rail, the way our mothers raise their right arms, look, we were going to Utah, all of our pointless f*****g, tables, when one parents leaves and you just want to scream "WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ALL OF THIS WHEN I WAS TWO?" because cognizance is the worst and I for damn sure would have rather grown up knowing two opposite stones at the ends of my hallways rather than building this whole new wing and remembering all these new names.

do you remember trampolines and telling me that I'm still allowed to kiss your shoulders?

and then we were young,

the sounds of fathers crying.

and then we,

older now,

rolling over

and in the morning,

eyelashes.

you see,

I remember your eyelashes.

I remember them like I remember when I learned touching a stove was hot.

the only judgemental guardian

I would let GAWK at me while I kissed you

and played with an idea

and chased euphoric rhetoric

that I scraped off of piss-colored, beer-stained floors.

Oculus.

Zarathustra wannabe m***********s

never care to notice the color.

It's like looking into the sockets of a rotten nymph corpse

and seeing your parental lack staring back at you,

breath just as soggy with bourbon.

"come towards! everyone!

we can sit down and negate this together,

just give you five minutes?"

Five minues of constant flame,

applied to the backs of 1,000

baby seals, or,

something else you bitched about.

That brown,

(1,000 baby seals + fire),

all charred skin and hunters hue.

Your eyes were brown.

And I can definitely recall that word

and that semiotic signification,

far easier than any goddamn metaphor

involving seals and napalm.

because I've seen your eyes before.

the first of the cloudy mornings

and the last of the obliterated nights.

...

you are a never ending math equation.

to prove would be one thing.

to solve

but we don't have to worry.

for you,

you are not welcome in this den of thieves anymore.

Author's Note

hayt it.

Reviews

[Elizabeth]

She's a real angel, isn't she? All eyelashes and lies... and whatnot. This begs to be performed aloud. And the last line sells the whole piece.

[S.G.P.]

wow, very intresting. take you every which way. I see how drugs fit in here, reminds me of people i know.