The windows and overall damage
to the place is weird stuff.
The sun hits us at a strange time in the day.

I didn’t even know
there was a sunrise at ten p.m,
but I also didn’t know my sister used to be Roy Herman,
so don’t bother trusting me for anything.

I always have company,
and someone almost always
gets a glimpse of that sunlight,
mutters something about almost finding grace
and then becomes despondent
for the rest of their lives.

No impromptu sex show can hope to save them.

I feel bad,
and not all guilt is politically motivated.

I can’t help it.
Everyone around me should be having a good time,
and I don’t even care, if that doesn’t lead
to one of those sincere acts of fifty-million dollar romance
that I’ve been hearing about since I was three.

Everyone is sick of my unintentional swagger.
Even the mad Russian at my favorite Chinese place
has his hand on the pistol under the counter
when I manage to beat the breakfast rush.

Hospitals are always catching fire,
some hopefuls are just better off not knowing the statistics,
and I’m always rushing in.
I know plenty of fools with women,
who love them for more than a four-hour holiday weekend,
and friends, with connections in whatever secret project
Samuel Fuller is working on right now.

Give me something.
You don’t know how hard it is
to wander the supermarket,
and yell at the fruit display in broken French-Canadian,
until one of those sweet things visiting town for four years
comes to my rescue.

They don’t stick around,
because my stories get nervous
around the middle of the bridge.

Give me someone who’s well-adjusted.
I promise I won’t unintentionally ruin their lives this time.

These people who come by ain’t my friends.
Some of them are the figments of a rest home’s imagination,
and the rest are lawyers, alcoholic acrobats and DJ’s from Branson, Missouri.

I can’t even keep a jar of mustard in the fridge,
and the most beautiful girl in the room
is always the sister of someone who shot me down in the second grade.

This is not a good way to live,
and it probably isn’t even a good way to die young,
just because the coffee down the block
just happens to have that special kick.

I either need to buy the world’s smartest cat,
or finally work at changing all my dirty ways.

I always need time to think it over,
and I also need you to bring blueberry muffins for Monday night.

We should probably eat at some point.

10/23/2011

Author's Note: the whole sunlight/grace thing was ruthlessly lifted from a book i've been reading, "the wind-up bird chronicles." the context, however, i'm pretty sure is all mine.

Posted on 10/23/2011
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