last poem

I can't think of any fitting
last words

nothing profound

any artistic sense I might
have started the month with
is squashed
like a gourd
(a feeble attempt at pun and poetry both)

last piece of wisdom--

my toes are cold
they're waiting for Christmas
my dad turned the heat off

I need silence.

I listen to

The Waltz of The Flowers

and dance with myself

right down the middle of the hall.

I keep a healthy balance

between

mildly proficient socialite

and

the fucking crazy kid.

I take a double dose

of melatonin

and fade into my comfort zone;

a book held like an idol

to ward off evil,

and the room suspended

in an eerie silence.

This is my kingdom.

sometimes I wear this shirt of Alexandra's to bed

and ponder about

how many of my friends have slept together

sometimes I think about space time

and sometimes

I think about

my life as one big

young adult novel

hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps
this is going to be the drunkest
christmas ever i tell my grandmother
she seems nonplussed when i tell her that
i am going to marry the man with the aviators
that works at the pet shop while i am
imagining him bending me over
bags of dog food and thanking some god
somewhere
that mind reading is not possible

this poem is a grainy 35mm black and white print
of an idiot clutching a computer

this poem is falling off a cliff in the back
of a greyhound bus
at 200mph

this poem is measuring time and space

this poem can travel at the speed of light

this poem is tired of itself

this poet is going to go take a nap

do you ever get tired?

red butterfly finds itself
on my ass

i wipe the sweat down
and away

we commence another
altercation

coming home
soon

Nothing ever changed

You can watch yourself lose your mind.
True fact, look it up.
Before you are crazy, you go crazy.
A girl who wished to remain anonymous
watched calmly as everything turned to gas.
And she asked herself if anything was wrong.
but of course, she said it wasn't,
and then she made it a point,
to stop talking to herself.