TWO: Four Years Later

Your blue eyes cross as you focus on the small
flickering flame that you hold so close
in front of your face.
Breathe in: whether you need it or not
the effect is still the same.
The thing about this stuff is...

i used to take simple pleasure in running
through fields of skeletal dandelions.
When those tiny dry parachutes take to the sky
and then float harmlessly down.
If they don't grow roots where they land
the field was already barren.
The thing about this stuff is...

The clouds roll in and it rains heavily
all through the night.
The smell of your chemicals hang in my hair,
in my clothes, and it burns my eyes.
The very worst are the words that cascade out of your mouth:
cheap explanations and unfinished sentences.
Suck it all in as fast as you can.
The supply is running low and the cost to replace it
is forever getting higher.
The thing about this stuff is...

When the earth runs out of places to accept its dead
and the tombstones out number the good people left alive,
where will we park our cars,
manufacture plastics,
fuck our prostitutes,
or plant our crops?
The thing about this stuff is...

ONE: Clouded Visions

twice i've watched the sunrise in your company.
my eyes burned with the smoke of twenty-five cigarettes
consumed within three hours, with all the windows shut.
i talked, you talked, he talked:
the thing about this stuff is...

she's got an itch, and no matter how i try
i cannot scratch it.
love is a beautiful distraction
but it only kills the time
in between what she's really after.

there were fruit flies on the food when i came to rescue you.
i moved to do my best with empty, shaking hands.
if i push you into traffic will you come out clean?
the thing about this stuff is...

the silent could be eloquent and the coward could be brave
but why can't they find it in themselves
to be as strong as they could be?
love is a beautiful distraction
but it is not what she's after.

here and there and everywhere in between:
i have discovered sleep to be pointless -
the clouded visions come at night;
words scream around my brain and get lost on the way out,
laying shredded among discarded cans
and big bags of sugar.
the thing about this stuff is...

she's got an itch and no matter how i try
i cannot scratch it .
i only claw her skin off to the bone
because love is no distraction
and it is nothing compared
to what she's really after.

the thing about this stuff is:
once painted
always painted.