Dry

I feel bad because I'm dry -
I'm not like the rest
who live in the wet.
Floating in the ocean of
sameness, unity, ubiquity,
it seems
you all are and I'm without...
But is it really something
of which to be proud?
Maybe once or twice I've dabbled
(and dribbled), but
self- and sub-consciously,
I'm worried that it's not enough
and that it's not me.
And other times I feel
the inconceivable urge
to be ubiquitous,
and take a dip, too.

"Sebald," she whispered.

Somewhere, a bell was ringing.
I knew it was just telling time.
Winding down with my love,
watching birds chirp and play,
freely - like I want with you.
I dream about it always, always
dreaming about it - about forever.
Bejeweled bracelets glistening in
the sun, knocking against your wrist,
my knuckles grazing your knuckles,
fingers fondling the spaces between
us, baby, finger pads feeling
every inch. Smiling, sipping
sweet lemonade beside you —
sneaking kisses and nuzzling.
Whatever it is you wish,
it will be done.
We will travel the world,
just live and be.
Somewhere, a bell was ringing. 

Everybody's Tragic

Leaving the store with a flyer in one hand
and a bagged doll in the other,
I overheard a conversation.

"When did you get your first doll?"
"Well, I lost my family all those years ago
in an automobile accident."

I sharply turned to the right
with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Rushing through, head down,
I saw someone I knew to be dead
and he said,

"Oh man.. I almost said congratulations,"
and smiled sheepishly.

I didn't know what to say
as I stared in the face of Kurt Cobain...
Who wanted to tell me all about
the television programs he watches at night
or in the wee hours of the morning.

Sparkle

"Drink this," you said.

"What's in it?" I asked.

"Magic," you claimed.

Inhale, exhale. Mess with my spoon a little. Ponder. Plot. Plan. Next move.

I'm running to the bathroom with my glass,
You're like, "What's wrong?" and I just cup my hand over my mouth like I'm gonna be sick but instead I just pour it out, watching the magic flow down the drain.

I'm fifteen and I don't want to be here. I don't want to be like this but I know it'll make me friends. I don't want to feed into the teenage cliche but here I am, at a party in a loft thick with potsmoke, I'm choking, my eyes streaming. I'm done but I have no way out.

Found my way to the closet.

Locked myself in.

Stayed there all night.

So much for popularity.