the rising cost of postage

red and white and blue

all the primary colors 

make me think of you

I used to write you love letters

in my head

as I walked from the dreary nine-to-five

that was shoes

and retail

and consumers

and america

whole songs as I crossed the park

I used to write you love letters

electronically

as I paced small quarters

four in the morning filled with

sick ichor and black dread

remember the reason

your plane turned around halfway

over the atlantic

because

there were terrorists

the fuel lines had been sabotaged

by terrorists

I remember almost hearing your voice

in my head

"I love you. I'm frightened.

I love you. I'm scared."

our phone conversation in the morning,

from Paris, you to me,

"They wouldn't even give me a hotel voucher."

I cried because I was so glad

you were safe.

rent and wild and blue

I know america's colors

and what they've done to you

The Balcony; 0208

we are living in secret
barking at the cat in the sun
which is shining at last
and you ask if I will climb
the five hundred and nine steps again today
thank you no
two euros to cramp my legs I don't think so
not when I can wander the abandoned tracks for free
and steal kisses from you
in the unforgiving sunset when it comes
if it comes
some days just last forever here
but we've learned that by holding hands tight enough
the nights arrive faster
and kisses are given more freely
when the lights are out

Epitaph

Hush
a whimpered whisper
'neath summer's moon
Hush
sleepless girls riding wings
hiding faces
Hush
carried across the sound
over water, under bridges
Hush
the breezes separating lovers
quieting the tang of iron
from teeth torn cheeks
sucking breath
careful not to wake
Hush
she who sits pacing
running fevers running reds
running guns without triggers
tucking hearts into bed
Hush
an unwelcome boyfriend,
his shade through the balcony door
and once whispered 'I love yous'
disperse for 'never more'
Hush
the slow rush of thumbs over breasts
the way she always left you,
wanting more

Saying Goodbye

she lays kisses like
railroad tracks
like strategic fire
burning pine and brush alike
leaving only ash and smoke and
coldness
in the wake of her tongue
he falls like rain upon
that skin, supple sweet
underneath the stomach's curve
covering her mouth in joy and secreted
glances across a crowded room

to be french

Americans have
a terrible flair for

the dramatic

which is why their
affairs
end

in ruin

Above all things
I value discretion
though like all Americans

I despise secrets

A good affair
is like a perfect cigarette

enjoyed slowly

savored

and never smoked
to the filter

the alter-egos

pulse in my feet
those tensed muscles unrelenting
from four days
on my feet
and not proper rest between
three of those.

I hate the bus because
people are always staring
and Milesly liked the attention
so does Billie but Erin
Erin just wants to crawl away
invisible and
sink in the urban wave

holding my lungs in your hands

summer's not enough
i want
to come home and lie
on your breasts with his hands
in my hair
i want
to come home and kiss
sugary sweet peach juice
from your chin
from that first bite
they keep telling me
'home is where your pile of shit is'
but home
is where my head rests
in dreams of quicksand
upon your shoulders
upon your breath