Some days

It comes and goes

Like the dull grind in the side of my hips in the morning
skulls bleached in the desert
Like the tobacco snowflakes at the bottom of the bag
Like the newspapers and the books and the love letters hidden from sight
That optimism can't be written anymore
they sit folded in an embarrassing purity
the last virgin words
Like damp rings in cocktail napkins and the eyes from strangers
"So here we are, so here we are"
Like the smells that come from under these old houses, that came from these houses
That keep coming
Like the heat next to your ankles
Like cicadas in their summer long seances
Like the silent couple in the restaurant
and their cold tea meditation

It comes and goes

That apartment emptied out once sucked of hope
That ache between your heart and your legs, her legs
That burn in your belly
That kind of love
That kind of love
That kind of love

It comes and goes

Untitled

* I haven't written anything in the verse/poetry realm in quite some time (about five years or so), until today. It was nice to stretch that part of my soul a bit.




She walked through with her belly peering under the shirt stretched thin with expectations
"Hide it away," I think
"Keep it safe."
Hide it from the heat that has everyone down here and the jobs that have everyone down here.
Hide it from the exhaust bouncing off the asphalt.
Hide it from the angry voices over the phone and the men with sad livers and sadder wives.
And if it's a girl hide her from the weight that sits on the shoulders of every woman who walks with grace simply to keep from the fall.
And if it's a boy hide him from the gamblers and the dealers and the men in suits bought with the souls of the freshly squeezed.
"Keep it safe," I inhale as the smoke hits the back of my throat and rolls out over my lazy mouth.
That weight is heavy and those suits are expensive and I pull at my shirt to cover the scars left behind from the one I know I can't keep safe forever.