isn't it funny how sometimes
in the middle of the night
people just leave?

yesterday
we were
dancing
outside
on the grass
and the wind
was blowing
and the sky
was falling,
and the
wrinkly
bad-mouthed
next door neighbor
had a
brilliant theory
that some
wild
reckless
teenagers
pushed
the sky
down by
tying a rope
around a cloud.

the bottle
of whiskey
you balanced
on
your head
when we
went
into my
bedroom
somehow
had a magical
power
that made
you
believe
that you
loved me,
and i-
completely
and
interestingly
sober-
believed you
loved me
too.

isn't it tragic
how the people
who love you
never stick around?

yesterday
i woke up
with a hangover
and the
memory of a dream
about
a boy who
used his
father's ladder
to get
his girlfriend
the moon
and this
morning
the boy
from my dream
left a note
on the
kitchen counter

i'm not ready
for this
sorry

they were word
i didn't
care for
because they
were too real
and personal
to include
in my pretty
fanatical
love struck
poetry.

isn't it hilarious
that i wish that
you would have stuck around
so i could have killed you
by shoving the moon
up your ass?