cvii. mom

i count my blessings on my fingers and you are always number one, hooked inside my thumb.

cvi. aspirin

the comfort you offer is the taste of last night’s hangover.

cv. stop-don’t-pause-go

red light as you leave again. you walk right through the puddle on the street. you don’t pause, don’t even glance at your feet, because who really waits for the green light at 4 am? i do.

civ. fusion perfect

in the mirror, these visions coalesce, mingling with the image behind those dark brown eyes, darker brown skin, and cracked nose; a composition that gives me pause and need for great celebration in this roaring december day.

ciii. why i hate to clean

i said i’d never shave my hair again, let my fingernails grow, be the dust on someone else’s things, until i’m ready.

cii. sin

confess yourself through mixtapes and letters and secret fedex packages. you never know a lie until you hear the truth.

ci. traffic

you were a dead end. i was a sharp curve. i’m sorry i skidded.

c. that’s bullshit, sweetie

you talk to me like your doing a voice-over. they fed you laxatives and made you look sick. it felt like our conversation was powered by a fuel generator. i don’t care how you got in here. i just want you out.

xcix. back to the basics

our names are splattered all over the ground for all to see and all to tread on.

xcviii. buddhists define spirituality as emptiness

formless and enlightened, i be.