bright lights, loud noises

I used to have a bad habit of walking to bars, even if they were miles away, I’d walk

I made it to closing time one night and I stepped back out into the street to find that it was raining

I didn’t have money for a cab and I couldn’t go back into the bar

so I walked into a fancy hotel across the street and sat down in the lobby and tried to look important or like I was waiting for someone

I sat there all night and no one bothered me

I must have fallen in love at least 6 times that night they would walk in shaking their umbrellas loose strands of hair sticking to their cheek… I imagined waking up with them, fucking and then sharing coffee, laughing over stories about mutual acquaintances

but nothing like that happened

and the sun came up slowly, the rain stopped like it always does,

after the final drink

after you have told your best friends exactly what you think

when you’ve told your enemies their hate is correct and

useless

when you’ve walked 2 miles at 4 am back to your room

when your love is insane and crawling

when loneliness corners you with funhouse mirrors and rocket science

we have our private, invisible medals that hang heavy between our shirt collars

she punches above her weight class and she is all pupils all nerves all soul

life marches towards her and it’s a parade without topless cars stilts or redirected traffic

we laid tattooed, unfocused and discrete in a month without slammed doors, woke up with the mail truck

and felt nervous about checking the box

it was cattle shot and branded, cotton candy in the sunset, satellites and dollar bills on fire

sirens, paper bags, soft-serve, and limelight until we were full,

I’d try to clean the place up a bit but I’d probably lose interest and get drunk

and then you’d show up wearing whatever you’ve put on very well

and I’d impress you with champagne (even though I hate it) and you’d squeal as I shot the cork across the room just like in the movies

you left a post-it note on my desk.

it read: do not write about love do not write about love do not write about love

I knew it was not a note to me but something that you were probably thinking while you were on the phone

or something like that

I took a moment to appreciate your handwriting and a dolphin you’d sketched, then I put it aside

I thought about something I’d read recently, how we are on the cusp of exponential growth in technology,

that the world as we know it will be gone very soon

I thought about a poetry class I took in college

I thought about throwing bottles of beer at a dumpster

I thought about not thinking, how that’s probably what the trick is, to never think,

to run on instinct,

I hear the heaters come on, I hear the water pipes and I hear the footsteps

there wasn't much to do so I cooked a chicken thigh in broth and then went to bed don't really go the bar anymore they simply refuse to hire anything good to look at and the conversation is dull and predictable and the bartender reaches around the bar back slicing key limes "can I get a card to run?" a tattoo on her arm for every 5 guys she's fucked "sure…sure.."

but I'm not in the business of writing reviews, good or bad,

don't know what my business is,

just pissing on the ashes of a campfire

tying my shoelaces mother fucking tight

we push ourselves farther towards the edge

watching the humorless and the tragic sail right past us and over and down

we share a couch, a box of cereal, a lifestyle

I may not be alive like she is alive

my eyes may sit deep in my head and i sit straight in the wind while she bends

and she bends far,

you are fantastic and jealous,

your soul can take serious damage from a fastfood cashier,

this year I made my first new year’s resolution in years and it’s simply to walk more

and it’s not for health reasons or anything like that it’s more for reasons of the soul–

if you can afford to believe in anything like that.

when I was younger I would walk anywhere 3 or 4 miles was no big deal

people thought I was a freak

but it felt good

the firm ground under the soles of your feet

I don’t throw words like intoxicating out there much

but it was

and though I like cars

I think I’ve realized that it’s isolating and suffocating

like living with ear plugs in

I think we cheat ourselves in a lot of ways

you weren’t homeless but you wanted to be