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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March 4, 2008

He makes a lot of noise, stomping and swearing, to solidify his anger. Emotion. Noise. Emotion. Noise. Not music, but a representation of words he cannot speak. His drink spills. He is unhappy. He gives up. Is it shameful that I only like him when he cries?