*Edited because of a posting mistake - I had the wrong time - and double-posting on the third because I'm totally swamped by online classes. Seven of them. We're doing our best.
2 / 30
I remember when we smoked together.
You had me waiting up
on Tuesday nights,
hurrying through calc homework
and taking my time
on, say, a perfect night
with sashimi and black coffee
hanging around the sleeping house
in hopes to hear your
When I think of the good times
I have a pile of them,
like hot clean laundry,
like all of us, dogs to Dad, on the bed;
old songbooks bloated on adolescence - junk food,
things scarfed down;
and, big brother,
poured from Swisher skin.
I was so excited,
and you hadn't talked to me before. At all,
not for real
except to tease
or make me smile
no matter how hard I tried to pout.
But I remember the smell.
The downstairs tiptoe -
watching you roll it up,
sidling up to the stained-glass front door
We'd breathe fire in your dingy white Jeep, and you spat rhymes
endless and fly
and - I thought -
so was I,
and we blew smoke
and big brother, how
we would speak.
You told me stories
and that idea for a movie,
and I thought it was not too late for you,
that you'd make it all come alive
and leave home soon.
I got to know you.
You are brilliant
but completely shut up inside,
afraid to move or even try to - your "stuck"
a deeper-dug, duct-taped version of mine.
I miss it,
not even the smoke,
but you speaking
for me to listen.
I tried too many times to fit our hearts together, I s'pose,
and now that I've needed
you can't see through that pretty smoke,
but I'm watching you,
wanting to talk.
3 / 30
leaving Mr. Habit (singy song)
You think that you can strut yourself to the front door
and bang bang bang to your pretty ass in,
But using you to use me to use you -
it's a circle that I'm done standing in.
Of course it feels good,
I mean, real good,
blissful as can be, initially -
no, it feels grand
when arms-o'-steel man
wraps you up, all warm in that first squeeze
but I'll be goddamned
if I ain't learned from those bruises! -
You incubus, sidling up to me
That you'll leave alone and hurt
after all that gas has burned
with my desert tongue and nothing good to breathe.
You taught me good, ah, you-you
It's in me, little like a tattoo
That this life is dizzying but who I see is up to me -
honey, the devil's chains hang loose.