(burn
down days like cigarettes – the psychedelic furs)
walking
where people are scared
of
things that go bump in the night
but
all i see are
shadows
in the moonlight
keep
thinking about a girl
i
have known
still
have her pictures on my phone
sit
on a tombstone
warm
my bones
from
the contents of my flask
task
a cigarette
wager
a bet
she
won’t return my text
if
i message her
something
falls from a tree
but
i don’t fall to my knees
to
seek protection from gravity
i
remember everything
the
way she could kiss
the
fullness of her breasts
which
i would test
the
consistency of with my hands
i
select “ache” by james carrington
stare
at the rows of tombstones
every
word of advice
everyone
has sliced
to
pave the perfect pathway
it’s
here, i say,
all
those roads lead to
this
may be monterey
but
this is just another graveyard
somewhere
on fremont st.
which
i will leave
for
the sand by the sea
for
a place to sleep tonight
i’m
already west of highway 1
undone
by my memories of her
that
i have stirred
in
the stillness of her picture
that
is a fixture on my phone
and
in my mind
what
would have been
is
a pretend i can’t end
as
i course like blood
through
a vein
toward
the heart of a beach
i
will suckle like a leech
until
i find the sustenance of sleep
where
i will wake and weep
after
a dream of unrequited love
then
go in search of breakfast burritos
and
another bottle of booze
which
i will blend in mixture
with
her pictures she sent me
when
she was nude
sometime
ago
it’s
cold
i
unfold
on
molecules eroded by h2o
i
drain the last of my flask
in
hopes i will see double
two
of her
with
one last look at her picture
*
i
have tried not to love her
but
ocean spray of monterey
will
always fail to wash away
the
monumental masterpiece
molded
in my mind
i
didn’t come here to find
forgetfulness
as
a nihilist
i’m
not sure i’m here at all
but
in this haze
she
is a blaze
burning
in my memories
and
as morning makes its way
over
the horizon
i
am surrounded by nothing
but
images of her
i’m
not sure what is true
even
digital photographs fade
when
the pervade is a parade
of
memories
and
i cannot see
anything
but my longings
brown
skin from her kin
from
india
brown
eyes, black hair
i
use to just stare
at
how her hips swayed
when
she walked away
and
then i got to play
with
her perfection
i
exist without detection
monterey
has seen
its
fair share of artists
lost
in the lies
that
there was something
more
important than her eyes
and
the look they use to have for me
no
one knew about us
i
was a secret sewn into to fabric
of
a failing relationship she had
with
the father of her child
short
girl running wild
i
will walk this town
that’s
high on its history
and
wonder if she is still running
i
should run too
but
i know there is nowhere to run
the
only thing i cared about was her
but
she slipped through
my
fingers like the sand
i
was fondling this morning
we
ended among my inability
to
commit
now
i hit my flask and cigarette
tell
everyone nothing matters
among
the deluge of chatter
i
know they are not friends
because
they only engage
the
part of me that will
unlock
the cage they have chosen
and
never know the secrets simmering
just
below my surface
that
would explain everything
never
knowing i already know the pathway
to
salvation
it
dwells within the opportunity to adore her
all
lies are the truth
and
all truth is a lie
perception
is the sheltering sky
wherein
i hide in monterey
as
i glide past a cannery
that
un-holsters its history
while
i wonder if i could
ever
repeat my history with her
and
undo the moment of me
which
made her go away
and
led to this day
in
monterey
mired
in memories
and
a return ticket to l.a.
that
carries a date
which
is still two days away
i
wanted to escape
the
dark streets of decay
and
my endless walking
only
to find i’m still stalking
some
semblance of a sidewalk
where
i once held her hand
whispered,
“pam, i love you”
and
though they were whispers
they
still echo down the concrete
canyons
of any city
in
which i cast my shadow
though
as of late
it
is followed by an echoed whisper,
“still”
***
