Hilary's Ass

Years of pining and not
a bristle or cone to show
for it. But that's how it
goes, timid in youth, late
in opportunity.

No denying I watch her
Waiting for the slightest
peak of flesh. Maybe
she won't notice me
notice the lace emerging
from the waistline of her
jeans. It's always sexier
the more she wears.
That is, until she wears
nothing.

A firm grip, right in my
palm and right at the base
of her bottom. Where leg
meets back. My favorite
curves of all her lovely
body. A grip of course
with my eyes, for although
there is much looking
there will almost certainly
be no touching.

Swing Shift Part 2

Zoned out again

My eyes notice her back pockets
Specifically that she has none
Smooth curves all the way down
That was third time I had noticed
In the span of half an hour
Not a line or stitch in sight

Distracted, I'm a target of elderly
ire. A gentleman waiting at first
patiently, has caught me in the act

Little does he know how little
I care, about the work I do
at the store. He can shout all
day but at the end of the conflict
I'll be on my fourth observation.

Swing Shift

This one's for Austyn

Swing Shift

Screaming babies bother
retirees looking for a quiet lunch
I am the monkey at the register
slapping at the flashing screen
Hours are slow on the clock
And pay is barely compensation
But there's gold afoot tonight

Our shifts that scarcely overlap
Have thrown me a cosmic bone
Vigilant at the hosting station
She waits for guests to arrive
My eyes are quick to find hers
And at once we share a thought
With her thumb and index finger
She puts a gun against her head
I reply with an emphatic nod
As we share this brief moment

1 New Text

1 New Text Message

Me: Late nights, the smell
            of tomorrow’s coffee waiting to
            be brewed. The bed is soft
but doesn’t offer rest, not when my
mind is swarming, infested with
worries and the remaining week’s
plans. The cat has no problem,
she’s asleep within seconds, the
lucky bitch. I play with the idea of
just forcing an all-nighter, play
those simulated fantasies until the
sun imposes itself on the curtains.
But that is an idea that has never
ended well. Class is fast
approaching, I won’t have much
time if I don’t spend it now, yet
here I am putting words to a phone
at the earliest of the morning

Justified

Justified

I’m great at rationalization
too great in fact. The person
I am most often rationalizing
my actions to is myself.

There has been much money
spent and time wasted all for
what I assured myself were
very good reasons.

They were not.

There have been a number
of situations I could have
avoided if I just hadn’t
listened to myself. I don’t
he always has my best
interest in mind. In fact
he’s kind of a dick.

Parallels

Not sure if I'm finished with this yet

Parallels

I know the way I’d like to live my life
and it’s reflected in characters I create.
I live vicariously through these words
as I lack the courage to make them true.
Fingers on a keyboard export idealism
but it is my heart that lacks the power
to bring it to fruition. Tales spin of men
who always get the girl, living parallel
to this world, devout in their beliefs
and to themselves and what they love.
It is in my nature, and so it is in theirs.
I’m hidden deep within layers of fiction
barely a light shining through canopies
verbose with vegetation. Beneath it
the earth is littered with the bodies of
work that only made it halfway or less.
Surrounded by these unmarked graves
I dig them up and recycle any parts
which may still have use and construct
something new and better, or perhaps
it dies as well, a monster that was never
meant to be. 

Fear

Fear

I’m afraid to let you know

you've been a vast source

of inspiration for my words.

Afraid to be more aggressive

in this little game we play.

To let you know I’d give the

world to hold you and for you

to want to be held. No room

to be bold, but rather patient

and faithful, or at the very

least hopeful. It could easily

be the case that nothing is as

it seems in my mind, rarely

do my expectations and reality

comfortably coexist. Alone

and uncertain, meditating on

my heart’s possible demise

while suspense builds, leaves

lingering suspicion of subterfuge

implements of my own deceiving

reason. I’m afraid to write this line

and the one that follows, or to

release this poem into the wild

for fear you may see all the truth

at once. I’m afraid to lose what

I have yet to taste of, and that this

is all very one-sided. I’m afraid

of you.