You read german fairy tales aloud and I caught myself almost touching my lips to your your finger — the one with the silver band around it — not a kiss, just a touch. Maybe I read my map wrong at some point in time and we should’nt have crossed paths. Or maybe in all of our past lives we’ve done this: bumped shoulders on a crowded colonial street, nodded as the other trotted by on an ancient path, meteors colliding and drifting apart forever, an explosive crossing. Danke Schön.
I dropped tears from my ducts and roared primal hurt at the sun ducking under the beach from a freeway crawling just as slow as one can away from what once was calling me.
There’s nothing like using your last ten bucks
on gasoline for driving to a girl
to pour your heart out and she goes straight for
her umbrella. Broke, broken, and homeless.