Archive for May, 2009


Carl Kleiner A Little Rejection Goes a Long Way. And I Feel Old again today. An the Kids, and the Toys, and the Songs, that surround me, Fall Short of Erasing my newly rounded Hips, and My newly Wrinkled Skin that I kindly call Laugh Lines And the Frown lines that I hide under my Betty Page Bang and my Chewed to the Bone Nails, and Sore Feet and Sour Mood.

Now that I’m 16 again, and Ryan Says: “You Are Seriously Ugly”


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This isn’t her phone.This isn’t my phone either.

She is yelping again.

Begging me for excuses,Making them up as she goes.

I’m merely a spectator, 



Reinforcements will arrive:

Promises of good behavior. Calculated, 

in the nick of time.

Soon. She will be fine.


And I can sleep again.

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The best nights of my life are those that begin at 4 p.m and continue till 5. 

They start with a day in the park, a visit to my favorite store, shopping a veiled attempt at seeing and conversing with people who fascinate me– interrupted by a thunder storm and a tree falling over.

The wind pushing me forward and into the bed of another, where I just lie and look at Esther, texting, in utter disinterest.

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Sun The best mornings are the extensions, Of the 12 am Drinking Hours.

And Life,is best lived, Wasted. On friends and Nonsensical Conversations, and Mornings, that are extensions. OF those 12 am. Drinking hours.

And Time, is so much better. Wasted, on a Girl, Holding on.  Tightly, to the Windshield of a Cheap Van, speeding Through. The Park, at 3 am. Than reading, or watching, cheap imitations of Thrills.


In those 12:00 am drinking hours that lead to 12 pm. Bridal Showers.

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Utter DefeatThe one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person.” Invisible Monsters.

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AnothersIts 3:34 in the a.m, And he, Who you Love, He’s in the arms of another, Whose Mind is set, On Another, Who will wake up tomorow morning, And Paint her Smile, in Her Eyes, And Brush her Hair, And Drawn Herself.

In Another.

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Phone calls, Recieved. And Missed. I go Over, and Over. Major Review. Nothing. 7 pm Call, 9 pm Words. Back, Forth. Momentary Hapiness. My Own Russian Roulette.

I like my phone better Off.

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