johnny, pass me the sawed-off!

it's nights like this i wish i still lived in my first apartment so i could smoke inside.
part of me wants to kick my air conditioner out of its perched window position and light up
even though there'd be hell to pay because my roommate would flip.
i'm already paying hell, i might as well go all out and get some satisfaction out of the deal.
but i won't.
i have enough unchosen battles to deal with, i don't need to go around picking fights.

unless, of course, i'm drunk at our bar after five too many gin-and-tonics
looking for someone i hated in high school for no reason
and still hate now for plenty
to look at me the wrong way.
her brother is next to me and in worse shape than i am
all two-eighty, six-four of him.
he's running his mouth off and itching just as much as i am
for the dirty look trigger to launch us into battle
or cuffs and the drunk tank
or a coffin if the kids have knives.
we can't even walk or talk straight
but we're cocked and ready to land punches;
just aim for the middle image of the bastard.
"you got my back if shit pops off?"
"yeah, man...i'll..."
"that's all i needed to hear. you need another yet?"
"yeah, this one was watered down."
"how is she?"
he squints his eyes and realizes he's hammered enough to answer.
"i don't know, she's never home anymore."
"is she seeing someone?"
"how would i know? i didn't even know you guys
were going out again until the night i had to dodge beer bottles
in my living room."

we laugh and try not to choke on the ice as we drain the remains
of our overpriced cocktails.
after that last remark i see it for what it really was
despite my drunken haze:
the scariest relationship
ever
but not the scariest
time.
i'd much rather be getting bitten and scratched and screamed at
and baptizing infidels in beer
than what i've had since:
nothing.
my room and a few dozen books.
day in, day out.
nothing to look forward to
besides a beer and a smoke
and maybe an accidental death
via tractor-trailer on the road
or chop-saw at work.

i guess what it comes down to is always having been in singular form:
only child, sole inhabitant, diagonal sleeper and filler of empty beds.
one apprentice in the company worth paying more to run work.
one man the other boss can count on working every saturday.
one friend that everyone likes to drink with,
or at least see drunk,
since the fireworks always fly
usually at his expense.
one friend who's been through enough
to make it worth the call
when you can't figure
your own shit out,
even though he might
actually call you
after you get what
you need.

when's it my turn to pluralize?,
or at least have someone else
to bear the burden of being
my "one" once in awhile.
they say it's lonely on top,
but why do they have to
trample the one
stuck on the bottom?

appreciated by all the wrong people
for all the wrong reasons
or the right people
for reasons that are admirable
but not enough to get me out of bed in the morning
without swearing that i'll climb right back in after work
and try in vain to read the doldrums away
or at least back far enough
to silence the calls from behind the dust ruffler.
he should've taken all the shells
and not the ones we found on the beach.

there are only three beers left in the fridge
a pity party foul on my part
but this was impromptu.
it comes like a two-minute piss you have to let fly
after a tight-kneed drunk-drive home.

those soul windows welled up with them a few minutes ago.
they haven't come in a long time, especially for no specific reason.
they just did.
it almost feels good.
to feel something touching my face
besides sweat and dirt.

she just told me i was in her dream last night.
i was at her house apparently.
i apologized if i did anything rude:
overstayed my welcome, pissed on the toilet seat.
she said it wasn't like that.
"it was pleasant."
i didn't tell her about all the dreams
i've had about her for the last three years.
but we're friends again, it's not so bad anymore.
funny how that works.
sometimes all you can do is settle for having someone in your life
in some capacity
even if it means you get spontaneous tattoos
so you can accompany her for her first
(and tell your artist to charge her the minimum price
and you'll pay the rest of it after she leaves).
i'd still give her the shirt off my back
and the rest of my life if she asked
but it doesn't hurt to think she won't
because i know now it wasn't meant to be.

and i guess that's where i am right now:
analyzing the connotations.
"pine" is better as a verb than a noun.
for the first time in years i'm not pining, though.
that word implies wanting the past, and i'm finally done with that
maybe.
it's more of a "yearn,"
more of a wanting the future
wanting what's left to come
before i die
in my sleep
of totally natural causes.

talking to her for the last half hour has totally changed my mood
and not in a false hope sort of way.
it's just nice to talk to someone who knows
or knew
me
again.
despite the beer.
despite the cold sheets.
despite the fact that tomorrow will be just as monotonous as today.
i guess i can stop now.
i'll be ok for the night.
funny how that works.






currently reading:

"crime and punishment" by fyodor dostoyevsky.
"the flash of lightning behind the mountain" by charles bukowski.