To Atlanta; the seas have cast you not into shadow yet.
Close my eyes, watching over morning. Naked, beyond comprehension, we lie like two mechanical deer’s frozen in the snow. I'll watch over you, as you sleep, listen to trains in the not so distant future. Nostalgia and regret creep back in; my back hurts as the jet takes off to lands in Atlanta.
Missing you will have to wait until the moon is too full of itself to hold water.
My eyes are soft now, with thoughts of spiders making webs between our toes. Your cigarette smoke lingers in my pinstripe jacket. You know, the blue one, with the sailor buttons. You always did like my Marlboro's best. Awoken, breathless, forsaken and cold.
I drink too much, play Beethoven on the piano and read a lot of trashy novels. You watch too many late night John Wayne re-runs instead of making love to me. When I'm gone I'll wonder why the sand never holds our shape when we move or if I was the only one spared or just not invited.
To tell the truth, your mouth was the only home I ever wanted.
--
A Morning In Atlanta
I lived near a doughnut shop
where the skinny pretty sex goddesses of the ave
taught me how to turn tricks
and that Love is just another whore
who charges less than I do.
They taught me how to make
eyes like symbols of grief
but didn't tell me it was
Clearly An Illegal Act.
They locked me up.
In jail I bought into
their 45 caliber conception
of sexiness
although I was never comfortable enough
to pull the trigger
Instead I wrote poems
stapled to the side of milk cartons
with my face and a phone number
distrubted them in Chinatown.
"Have You Seen Me?"
"I am more you than you have ever been."
But no one ever called.
Ever Called.
I wanted to be a red-headed girl
everyone wants a red-headed girl
but no, I was dishwater blond
with expressive eyes and sad hands
and a lot of tacky regrets
I lived in a motel with strawberries
stayed in bed all day
masturbating.
felt very comfortable with myself.
very uncomfortable with you.
You screamed into my mouth until I woke up
Love had passed! Love had passed!
As if death were some sort of test.
I woke up again after the fog lifted
all black eyes and bloody lips
looking like a morning in Atlanta.
high grade pharmacuticals creases
reflected through a dirty mirror
repeating embarrassing words
lies costing more than truth
truth too busy being lies.
This morning Dawn told me
she was sick of her job
and quit.
