scabs mostly heal

you witness
the trigger
or you don't,

either way
some bullets find a shelter
right in the middle
of your gut
better
than most.

out on the range
you stand there
clutching
a larger than life target
on your chest.

christ,
you will even clean
the barrell
of their gun
every single time.

and whether you see them
or you don't,
they will always measure you
and take aim.

on the seventh day, since the last time we had sex

it was somewhere on fullerton,
just off the kennedy,
as i picked you up from work
that i saw you
in five years.

you looked the same,
just a little bit better.

you must had either been coming
or
going to work.

we were talking like familiar strangers.
you were dressed
just a little bit better.

and the heavy skyscrapers made me feel
just a little bit smaller.

and you never showed yourself to me.
it was like i was just some familiar client
or a colleague
you worked with at one time.

you looked good.

and then we came upon
a stoplight
and we were still
swimming in that silence.

and just in case you were wondering
why
i placed my hand in your lap
at that stoplight.

photography

i always look so wasted in my pictures
even when i'm sober.

i never smile

because the top
of my front teeth
have been knocked the fuck
out,
twice,

and the nicotine
and the coffee
and the red wine
have just shaped the porceline
even worse.

i swear to some god
that when my girlfriend
plays with my mouth,
it's like some slab of clay
that she's been molding
for some statue
in the remembrance of cancer,

and it's then,
that i'm just a little less bright.

and everytime
it's only a flash,

when i'm here,
trying to hide something
like i'm in control
of the lense,
like the distortion
is constructed of
a real face,

and it's here
that i've always been a lie.

the myth of logistics

we reach
for the gravity of these needs
with the same hands
that pin us
to this ground.

we aim for stars

and during the loading,
something undoutbtedly
gets lodged
into
the barrel of our chests.

we deem this
in terms of explosions,
the heat
boring its way into our hearts
and minds.

and in
the last act of desperation
we will breath for something
like a feral prayer.