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An addict will never say sorry for the

Broken crack pipes crumbling beneath

Slippered feet

She will offer eyes – before the rolling of her tongue become as

Heavy as her mother’s expectations

You will smell the burn of plastic, silver and dreams; a napalm life

Settled in the suburbs or the valley

City lights blink bleary eyed, as if woken from a nap

And you won’t ask why? when your life becomes

As rough as the tongue of an ex lover

You will never find a shoulder or an empathetic ear,

Sitting with friends still as lonely as a crowded train in Manhattan.

There will be days

When you wander the neighborhood

Of your own mind

And forget where your last thought lived

When you won’t remember the memories of

her love, still warm

Or your smile

as eager to find her, as the hands of a thief.

You will find sanity in the reliability of disappointment

Because no one ever loved you like she did

Her overdosing was as expensive as truth can be to

An insecure middle child

So you will run, like any sacred human, in your shoes

And the gunshot that rang your ears bloody;

A mellow song of hope and respite will carry

Your hands toward the ribcage of a man, that looks

Surprisingly like every man in your life.

You will smile

Promise the redemption of a woman still heaved forward

Skin blue, buried beneath forgotten dreams and a goose down

Comforter

His arms will swing, shaky like a winded balloon

Tears pool and drain on his cheeks

Mouth clamped as tightly as the lock on a rape victim’s bedroom door

Life for him will blink short, sitting restless and weighty in

The hands of a 16-year old;

Your hate will grow like

A cloud of indecision,

And his voice will never reach the air for forgiveness.

who knew you would sweep me clean off my feet
borough of saints and sinners
clasping beef patties and bootleg cd’s like gold

i smile envious, drunk dizzy;
lost in the shuffle
glassy eyed addicts and inebriated disorderlies
grin,
teeth barely there offering compliments
and my skin probably wouldn’t crawl as much
if they would close gaping troughs after
snaking their tongue in approval

trail my rat maze pace like sandpaper
as if this stroll ain’t smooth already

bklyn,
where else will i find the cops formed in the
shapes of triangle?
contorted civil servants, did you forget to tell
them we are royalty.

or maybe we misread the labeling

caught a man a quarter of a mile away from
home and his heart must’ve broke along with
her skull
he tossed her body against concrete on a Monday evening

over nothing bigger than a toss of her neck in the wrong direction
these are how fights start in bed stuy.
his voice stab the air with “2 for $5″
and nobody blinks slow, always ready for blood
afraid the lights will dim and they will
be left to fend for themselves