Alt. 19

 A cheap motel room/a bottle of Popov vodka/shadows on tile walls/wild eyes.

Outside, 
the night
closes in
like wolves. 

American Sidewalks

 As wind

crashes

against my

flesh

and cold snow

falls on

my black jacket,

I dream 

of a face,

soft and pure,

in that

warm

Palm Harbor

sun. 

Jupiter Beach Halo

Vodka breath

and

golden brown

tan;

she sleeps

naked 

under white

covers

as the sun

rises over

campus.

I stand up

and walk out

quietly;

her screen door

creaks

shut 

behind me.

I stumble home,

half awake,

half alive,

as the city

wakes up from

a taxi cab

Friday night.

A car passes

by

and I grin-

the smile

of youth

long gone. 

Aim

She's got a
fast Jeep:

down the highway,

outskirts of town;

down by

neon gas stations

and the

dirty beach.

We pass

homeless men

in wheelchairs

and the

liquor mart

jammed with

cars.

Outside,

night 

closes in

as waves

crash against

the sand.

I light my

cigarette

and

glance over

at her

face:

young,

bold,

sharp as

knives.

She keeps her

pale hands

tight 

against the

steering wheel.

There is

no other

way out. 

Stranded By Malls (Raised On Video Games)

A music video

flashes

on the T.V.

in her

dark apartment

as neighbors

pound on

walls.

I set

my arm

around her

shoulder

and pull her

close.

The phone rings;

we don't

pick up.

The music

blasts

on and

on.

I feel like

I could

sink into

this ratty old

couch

and stay there

forever.

Suddenly,

the police

knock on

the door.

Who has

time 

to answer

doors?

I take a deep

sip of

beer

and run my

palm

against her

untamed

blonde hair. 

Been Dirt

Sitting

on a porch,

quiet midnight

in Florida.

She pours 

vodka

into a glass

of Coke;

stars shimmer

like

lost diamonds

in the

midnight sky.

I hear

the sound of

her voice,

the sound of

her dreams.

I press

a plastic cup

to my lips

and take

a swig.

We have

nothing

and 

we want it all.

Her voice sings,

soft and

steady,

and on

and on.

I light

a cheap cigarette

and let

the night 

fall

all over me. 

Ripped

He hands me
a bottle
of vodka.
I take
my first
sip.
He stands
before me:
hair slicked back
like
Brian Setzer,
black jacket
and torn jeans.
The booze
goes down
my throat,
wet and warm.
The room
begins to
spin around:
I forget
who I am.
A soft feeling
runs through
my body.
It feels like
nothing bad
has ever
happened.
He turns up
the stereo
and grins.
I light
a cigarette
and stare
at the wall.
Finally,
I am
free.