sweaty hands

my life is
well, chaotic is one way to describe it
the feel of your hair on the bridge of my nose
right before
well, you know.
so this is what it's like to be punched.

only, not.

all my punchy phrases and pithy cries
pleas and please say goodbye
i could be dealing in bones, ladies
watch out
(i would, if i were you.
one day i might use my knowledge of pain to
well, sever my fear of it)

but i'm not.

the moon was the size of your eyes, tonight.
like hers, only she's fiction and
perfect for some guy who's not me because
let's face it,
i'm just not into that.
i could call it sudden clarity but that,
that is a word reserved for sober drunks
i need teeth to describe this.

i don't have them,
if you were wondering.

i see ten thousand roads
and robert frost can go to hell for all i care
because none of them are less for wear,
and this isn't a fork it's a goddamn porcupine
and hey,
i'm stepping on it.

i have a confession:

i hear everything. your words are like candy,
guilty, guilty, guilty
and i hear every word and hell, i know you're right.
but i wait for two hundred eyes to realize it's true.