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bryan street
my mornings were mirrorless when i had them,
and my boots never left my feet.
black nail polish
acrylic paintings
coffee shop tshirts
on my bed sheet.
miniature bottles of saki
invited
sleeping all the wrong hours
my first pumpkin beer and the cold
warned off two in three showers.
road tripped to fayetteville
and stayed in a sideways frat.
the roads were nearly vertical
we blamed our sideways nights on that.
in the cleavage between the states
reno’s retarded cousin kept a moon.
i called him crying from the parking garage
half breathless
my lips curled into prunes.
the learning that happened that winter
i numbed with invented days
the few i didn’t sleep through
i detached in invented ways.
i’d rather go hungry
while tasting all the wrong food
than lack the craving, and be the
only.
call it my winter as a broken hearted fool,
but not the meal in which i was lonely.
