tuesday-night

In the wake of multiple futures we break apart. You find the point where the sun rises solamente al cielo and I go to the river where wind falls into my watery eyes and cascades over the back of my neck and here I know how life throbs caught in flesh, I know the hearts of lonely people sin alas tenues serpentine and thrashing. You had given me a full look, a look with all the cycles in it, a look that made Hudsons of my jawlines, por supuesto we were serendipitous, and I couldn't keep my hands off you and sure, it was temporary para siempre but we will return to classic rock and Atlantic conversations, I will return to kis

1. It has been twenty seven days since I last let the    hawk-eyed man into my head, ninety four hours    since I last drank myself to sleep, and thirty two    minutes since I last kept my mother from the truth.    Tonight, she still thinks I have hope, but it may be    the last time she believes I'm still whole. i. Last night, I dreamt of the boy next door, the gun    in his drawer, the whiskey under his bed, the hate    in his eyes when he drags me out of bed to tell me    I've ruined another story, I've fanned another flame.    This boy does not know my mother, but I suspect    they would get along quite wel

Suddenly, I find myself sitting in my bedroom on the second floor of Eliza's building. The shop hasn't changed much, and the buzz of machinery is as familiar as her voice. My paintings are still on the walls, with some photographs and a mirror. The cold tiles of the balcony stick to my thighs as I sit and listen to the traffic growl, feral, below my feet. I wonder for the first time if Eliza tells baby Faye any of the stories she used to tell me as we sat out here, sticky because the air conditioner was broken and hungry because the bread was gone. I try to focus on that feeling, and not on Sam snoring behind me, or the itching on my wrist.

You have sharp pulse-elevating teeth the stuff I imagine heart attacks are made of I'm bent on selling you a handful of smiles specifically crafted to distract you from the fact that I have almost nothing to say and now you're steering this conversation in a direction that suggests you've forgotten that I don't watch movies or do much of anything but work which maybe explains why one glass of wine gets me wrapped around you car to streetlight crash style mangled limbs breeding curious onlookers and my insurance has expired you're leaning in and all I can think is I don't have insurance