September 30, 2008


The stagnant air

reminds her of



summers coming to a close.


Waiting for the wind,

she recalls

her inability to be


to be in control.


Everything reminds her

of Bukowski


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.





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?