false hope hits me often, like a blow to the face--ouch. I really love my friends, as in I am in love with them, all of them. I see the sort of altruism in them I wish I had. envy is a boat, like a 1996 Dodge Caravan in water. my love is a boat, like a Ferrari on the Utah salt flats. my love is vengeance. my love is freely handed out candy on Halloween kids ecstatic that the priest is handing them a treat in the confession booth. my love is a priest and my friends are God and little children. this may be my one regret.

cold under evening glow means
we're in a state of confusion,
or New Mexico.

ice covers my mind and the sun that
shone on shiny silk sweaters at dawn
became shallow. it was really hard
to live with him after that.

we ditched the bastard and found ourselves
a bum off the I-10 freshly dug up
from stranglers' shopping malls. hitchhiking
really only works if you're gray or sleepy.
truck signals as unintelligible as the fields
they pass communicate. inner spirits
haunt the drivers who have passed this
way greater than or equal to twice.
get out, they say, or you won't again.

jerk the wheel

sat around, slightly found
exactly what I'd hoped to avoid:
another iteration of the previous
solution to a problem I'd prefer.
but not entirely, as if someone
had changed the lock and kept
the keys. you had me at hello,
but I pray you do not keep me long.
I'd prefer you to simply
tickle
my
fancy.