Movie Moment

she only knows how to hold a balloon,

how to hold it behind her back. tuck it up and cover it

string peeping between her knees. momma can't see it there, she doesn't care anyway

it's like crossed fingers again. knuckle games,

footsies in a trailer park, bike route behind mountains you found her

you were a walking sand filled breeze.

you clog my throat with stones.

your words are too big for me to look at. 

stand against the chicken fence, let me take a picture

of your shiny shoes and sun burnt silhouette.

her tights have never once, matched her dress.

she was born a mess. every thing's a color in code

kodak knows how to fuck with you, they never let anything go

they shoot you with a camera, shooting guns. focusing focusing in on you

no one wants another mess made tangible, left over,

spaghetti sauce that up. for the birds in the backyard.

her covers aren't covering anything anymore.

she's got them all twisted and tortured upon a sheet-less bed,

attempted layers for the landfill, the dry spell

i've been listening to too much rap lately

now my mind thinks in shards of glass. let me clean that up for you

picking up picking up your body parts in clusters

i never meant to sing you a song,

to spill over my thoughts on a dark wooden bench

where people sit with dogs and dinners for two

bridesmaids are beaten with the image of a bird made broken

spaghetti sauced lungs in a corner store, heart sore from the heaviness

some windows were made for staying in,

children bury faces in pillows, the cold side up, sinking in creases, pillow clumps

i'm riding bikes towards pot holes for the pot luck, her work reflects her words, who cares.

i've got the night sky telling me time, these days are a different story

counting steps, counting on my soul to do the dirty work for me

quick sand quickened my thoughts about fear,

i'm not on training wheels riding west anymore, i'm a disaster in a suitcase

left behind by a business man with a cold shoulder

t.v. dinners are a high school drama made homey for the lonely ones,

macaroni and cheese in a plastic package, brownie points for the brave

let me scribble words on a placemat from a trash can, divie up what's left of it inside of a mini van,

you can count the splinters in vain from a fence wooded grain

but it's when you think you've got something good,

that you learn to throw it away