September 30, 2008

 

The stagnant air

reminds her of

airplanes

and

summers coming to a close.

 

Waiting for the wind,

she recalls

her inability to be

poetic,

to be in control.

 

Everything reminds her

of Bukowski

yet

he left her

without a cigarette.

 

Breathing in

clean air,

she notices how

black her lungs are.

How dare he leave her          

 

without a cigarette.

She will always have

knowledge and words

at least.

Always something to read.

 

The air waits

for a bluebird

but heartbreak never

shows itself in tears.

 

 

 

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We look in the mirror, wondering what to do with our hair when we haven’t showered for days. We sit, questioning what to talk about after we realize we have everything in common. We listen to lyrics that sing about love when all we want is sex. It hurts when the music stops, la de da de da.