Month: August 2017

first dates are tough for a someone like me

she looks at you from across a
slatted
metal table, her full glass of
white and your emptying glass
of rye. she waits. you

could tell her that you’ve only
seen your father cry three times in
your entire life. or that your

mother didn’t talk about that
great human bind called
emotion. or you could tell
her

about the grandparents you
barely knew- except that
strange memory of an Itlalian
Grandfather towering above you
in a Denver airport terminal,
a spectre in a black
leather jacket. you could tell

her about the other women. the
ones that only ever appeared to
you as dead skin cells in a
beam of light. you could tell
her that

you’d rather be alone in
muted pessimism. or, you
could ask

where she works and use all of
those tired muscles to lift up
your lips, showing at least five
teeth as she

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creature in August

women dictate every action
made. every sidewalk, every
bookstore, coffee shop, dim
bar- there is always a beauty
dictating my thoughts. I am
a slave in August. a creature
begging to be allowed a
glance.