smoke

my traitorous mind can unravel
even the tightest of knots
like a prodigy, like no one else can.
she plants time bombs, ticking,
and then leans back to light a
filterless cigarette,
tobacco clinging to her lower lip.
her tongue flicks out and then
i’m not even sure i saw anything
ever
maybe what i witnessed was not real
maybe what i experienced will not last
and what i think i know
i will find i do not.
hell, i don’t even smoke.

the what ifs

what if i’d listened?
what if i’d stayed?
what if i’d wasted
another decade?
what if i’d waited
to give up my youth?
what if i’d lied
(or just altered the truth)?
what if i’d run off
the plane at o’hare?
what if i’d trusted
in catholic prayers?
what if i hadn’t
imagined your skin?
or constructed this universe
(the one we live in)?
what if i’d swallowed
the hope in my chest?
what if i’d given
the runner a rest?
what if i’d shriveled
and wasted away?
what if i hadn’t?
what can i say?

Lunacy

we are connected
much in the way that the earth and the moon are connected
we orbit, and circle, and dance through
tides and through phases.
Your influence lunatic
moves the waters of grey
that float between my ears.
Struck by your faces –
your seas of tranquility
evidence of impacts –
we rotate in synchronicity,
turning, but never touching.