my fingers lose feeling
as I stare at the white
glow and wish I were
Bukowski
wish I could write to you
in night, in dark ink
on a napkin smudged
with lipstick
play out a future
of Hollywood and pipe dream
or nightmare
pipe bomb
accidental pregnancy
black eye, broken heart
listening to you piss
in the bathroom
curse your name
it’s best
you hitchhike south
I drive north
fall in love
with the slow drawl
of your words
never curse you
hate the day
you came bloodied into
the world
screaming
but I am not Bukowski
and I’d rather know
for sure
the no in my throat
then guess
be suspended in maybe
I dream in black and white
lately, and reflections appear
where they do not belong
but I saw color in you
that daunting cold blue
dark and bright at once
the need to hold it
again, shake it loose
anaconda myself around you
or you around me
we’ll take all the books
to bed with us
grow limbs made of paper
strike a match
and burn burn burn
until night breaks
and falls from the sky.