Don't Lie To Me

Chewing bubblegum and popping it on molars
the way I learned to do in high school,
the way the bad bitches taught me
when I was writing porn poems and learning
how to beat my feet to slow reggae.

Don't lie to me.  Don't fucking lie to me.
Fuck me harder than I can take.
Kiss me harder than I want.
Break my windows, key my car,
eat my dreams up with urine rain,
cut my dreams up, bring your pain,
but don't lie to me.  See me in double vision,
but don't lie to me.

I will remember.  And count off the time
until I have nothing to lose and everything to gain
in meeting up with pen and paper
with your name to cross out
in my back pocket.  Seeya later,
in the meantime popping bubblegum
to bring me back to happier wherevers
when my sister and I fought
over who got the car for the day and who
put more gas in it.

Smoker 35

"I hope that shakes out for you."

"I don't."

In a good way, passes between our ears.
In one brain stem and out the other
like coal boiler steam.

"It never does," brassy and hammer whistle.

"It never does," stubbing it out on the bricks.

"You want to go back in?"  August has been disgusting,
sweaty and shiny like porn casual Wednesday
everyday, and everything over priced,
glasses sliding on their own condensation
as much as spit flecks from
the everyone busy getting down.

"Yeah."  The kids are back in school.  "I was not carded
once all summer.  Not once," stubbing it out on the bricks.

Back in town.  With fakes.  "Free time is a bitch."