HOME | DD

Description
…I’m not the one who’s so far away…

this moment
mine-ours-your
hands, one on the wheel, another
holds your signature cigarette
the mark, territorial, unfurling in the
fleeting wind of 40 mph and –gone
the moment passed.
It was cold, for October, trees were
Naked, crisp-the air, burning
My lungs with the trail of sharpened lingering smoke,
My head throbbing harmoniously with the staggering bass.
I remember watching your eyes,
Beneath glasses and veils
Of thick Marlboro through a
Side-viewed mirror
Duct-taped to the hull of burgundy scrap metal
Hurling us along, feeling so…
So alive in every moment.
Breathing…deep, to choke on every
Breath of smoke
Second-hand- my place to the left of you…
Behind…underneath.
It poisoned me, this tar
Accumulating in a memory recalled in
Utter abhorrations of perfection.

…when I feel the snake bite into my veins…

an addiction
masochistic snake-charmer under the
hypnotic gaze of pain, humiliation,
defacing…
that moment, in your car (you hit a mailbox
the first day out with it) the smell
etched-as a moment of living…that song
embodying the angst-movement, my initiation
my baptism from the bitter winds, imagine
the windows down to free smoke,
in October.
If only I had known, perhaps
Just, perhaps I would have cried,
When I could,
Instead of smiling so wide.
This moment would mean I’d crave
A serpent tongue down my raw throat,
A firm clasp around my neck, the
Venom thick in my coursing veins.
This man, at which I gazed,
My lover…my hell, my only desire
To run to and to run from

Branding me, a possession, with
The butt of jokes,
The butt of a cigarette,
The butt of
Existence…pinned beneath you
Your hips, rocking…
Weightverwhelming,
Myself
…at fault. I couldn’t cry.
The steel…my unforgiving friend
That car, a chariot of destruction, toward
Your career as puppeteer.

…never did I want to be here again…

that house, the breath of sin,
doused in smoke, hard lemonade
staggering…stairs too tall to conquer
a man too desperate to listen
a blade too keen, flickering in waning light, for
flesh…mine or his, it cared not
those stairs…leading to a
porcelain bathtub run red
huddling unforgiving, a marked doll,
bed of pins,
bleeding pacification on white
carpet, paper, appeasements, tears, skin,
pajamas…where? The shame of
walking
step-for-step back to lay
beside a slumbering
bastardly
lion
a death equal only to
feeling free in October air
burning lungs full of Marlboro christened breath
gazing at one hand on the wheel and eyes
beneath glasses, and cold
one day...eyes that would break my
name, redefine charred skin,
...the chariot of burgundy junk metal,
hurtling in the wind towards
a montage of smoke-filled moments I wouldn't
have craved, had I known I would cease to cry again
hurtling me towards a living death
where I couldn't say
"no"
and tears: a thing of intangible beauty.

...and I don't remember why I came.

:o (Eek) — Description
…I’m not the one who’s so far away…

this moment
mine-ours-your
hands, one on the wheel, another
holds your signature cigarette
the mark, territorial, unfurling in the
fleeting wind of 40 mph and –gone
the moment passed.
It was cold, for October, trees were
Naked, crisp-the air, burning
My lungs with the trail of sharpened lingering smoke,
My head throbbing harmoniously with the staggering bass.
I remember watching your eyes,
Beneath glasses and veils
Of thick Marlboro through a
Side-viewed mirror
Duct-taped to the hull of burgundy scrap metal
Hurling us along, feeling so…
So alive in every moment.
Breathing…deep, to choke on every
Breath of smoke
Second-hand- my place to the left of you…
Behind…underneath.
It poisoned me, this tar
Accumulating in a memory recalled in
Utter abhorrations of perfection.

…when I feel the snake bite into my veins…

an addiction
masochistic snake-charmer under the
hypnotic gaze of pain, humiliation,
defacing…
that moment, in your car (you hit a mailbox
the first day out with it) the smell
etched-as a moment of living…that song
embodying the angst-movement, my initiation
my baptism from the bitter winds, imagine
the windows down to free smoke,
in October.
If only I had known, perhaps
Just, perhaps I would have cried,
When I could,
Instead of smiling so wide.
This moment would mean I’d crave
A serpent tongue down my raw throat,
A firm clasp around my neck, the
Venom thick in my coursing veins.
This man, at which I gazed,
My lover…my hell, my only desire
To run to and to run from

Branding me, a possession, with
The butt of jokes,
The butt of a cigarette,
The butt of
Existence…pinned beneath you
Your hips, rocking…
Weightverwhelming,
Myself
…at fault. I couldn’t cry.
The steel…my unforgiving friend
That car, a chariot of destruction, toward
Your career as puppeteer.

…never did I want to be here again…

that house, the breath of sin,
doused in smoke, hard lemonade
staggering…stairs too tall to conquer
a man too desperate to listen
a blade too keen, flickering in waning light, for
flesh…mine or his, it cared not
those stairs…leading to a
porcelain bathtub run red
huddling unforgiving, a marked doll,
bed of pins,
bleeding pacification on white
carpet, paper, appeasements, tears, skin,
pajamas…where? The shame of
walking
step-for-step back to lay
beside a slumbering
bastardly
lion
a death equal only to
feeling free in October air
burning lungs full of Marlboro christened breath
gazing at one hand on the wheel and eyes
beneath glasses, and cold
one day...eyes that would break my
name, redefine charred skin,
...the chariot of burgundy junk metal,
hurtling in the wind towards
a montage of smoke-filled moments I wouldn't
have craved, had I known I would cease to cry again
hurtling me towards a living death
where I couldn't say
"no"
and tears: a thing of intangible beauty.

...and I don't remember why I came.