She was nineteen going on psyche ward.
She was five feet away from my front door.
She ran into open traffic.
I, being invulnerable, ran out after her.
A minivan now shares my fingerprints.
The jitterbugs of headlights danced like the aurora borealis
The growling from the cars were merely beta max
She yelled, “What do you want from me?”
“I just want you to not die!”
And now, I am drinking to her and Al Purdy
I am drinking with Betty Boop because beer tastes better in Casablanca with Betty Boop on your arm.
A boy tries to pick the wall’s pocket at the kissing booth as the bartender makes love with the weather. And I have Georgia on my mind.
I had a girl almost die in my arms the other night. She was called Dani. She always wanted to be called Dani. I call her Dani.
Danger is measured in moments but has always been too close to anger for me.
She was the smudged mascara on the face of the moon
The peed pants with a hard on
The planted seed in the backyard of the brothel
And I think of Georgia
Karen G says that its okay to feel poet about someone
That its okay to want to hump someone’s poem
Right about now I want to rage fuck absurdity
Step into the street of insecurity
And stance cheeks spread for the rhino of public perception
Take me now or let me breathe
I’ve seen teddy bears slither like constrictors
I have fish tears and mirror memories
I have flowers dying in my beer
Where did the girl with a smile like a sitcom soundtrack go?
Where are my clean socks?
Who told the whispers that come from the pool table that they are playing snooker tonight?
Why can’t I find another back to rub instead of this pen.
