Fleeting Rosacea

That sucker-punch

killed my butterflies.

Like a gutshot buck

I wander, confused

only knowing of the blood.

We've met many times before.

You just had a different face.

What a time 

to be told

you're alive.

Arm Candy

This Pisces 

ain't picking

a fight

or mentioning

your unmentionables

but I'll be goddamned

if I enter again

the War

of Northern Aggression.

The biggest mistake

that we can make

is expecting

ourselves

in return.

The Plans You Make

There are

worse fates

than being forgotten

like being remembered

by the wrong people.

And there are

worse plans

than breaking them

with folks

who are already broken.

And there are

worse words

than lies

like truths stated 

for illegitimate reasons.

And there are

better places

to wake up

but I'd rather do it

next to you

or not at all.

Carpool Commuters

The gas station coffee's too hot 

to chug at 5:58 AM en route to work

so we fill our first few highway miles

with recent recollections

of the minuscule victories

and minor defeats

that shape our daily lives

laughing ourselves to tears

at these predicaments--

acknowledging how we're turning

slowly into our fathers

just enough to be grateful

while achieving 

the one unspoken wish

that these better men 

maintained for their sons:

Not losing ourselves along the way

like the embers of our cigarettes

flittering off behind us

between white and yellow lines.

All the Wrong Places

The unrealistic

sexual expectations

prevalent in the modern male

are direct byproducts

of an Internet

with 20% of its phone searches

being related to

its 4% of pornographic websites.

You can tell

by the way 

someone's looking for love

whether or not

they've ever beheld it.

Submission's a choice

but you can't have

what isn't

for you.

Currently reading:

"On Love" by Charles Bukowski.

The Ohio Compromise

I've always lost

people

but never 

cigarette lighters.

The latter I find

on the pavement.

The former

find reasons

to hit it.

If you need me

I'll be swearing off

love 

in the closet.

If you need me

I'll be highly surprised.

Every Lethal Inch

An undeniable mess was made

but the umbrella's dry now

so I bring it inside

from the hallway

and return it

to the closet

horse-trading the days between

hijacked evenings

spent tracing a bird on a back

and wondering if 

the relevance of fingertips'

coordinates are noticed.

There's a word for it

that we can't say

due to different reasons.

We'll settle for existing

olive green with envy.

What to Assume When She Doesn't Respond

Maybe she's getting 

her back blown out

by a guy with more length

and less girth.

Maybe it's the reaction

that her skin has to mine

when heightened immunity

meets stubborn cologne.

Maybe it's how my eyes close

while hers look up from my shoulder

like lashes can lock doors

for the night.

Maybe it's the way

that I inhale so deeply

when close together

as though I'll never

experience those pheromones

again.

Maybe she's worried

that it's merely the idea of her

but she's altered the thoughts

of a mind hard to sway.

Maybe we're all warned

not to pet burning dogs

and the best of us do

regardless

since the Doomsday Glacier's fake

ain't nothing that a bottle won't drown

and how it all ends

is what matters

right?

A Unpopular Assessment of Aztecs

84,000 people

were sacrificed

over the course of four days

in the 1480s--

hearts ripped out

with obsidian blades

no neighbors or kin safe

from priests atop pyramids

appeasing a sun god, angry.

Either 

they didn't know

a thing about science

or they knew exactly

the nature of man:

There's no substitute

for flesh.

Currently rereading:

"Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame" by Charles Bukowski.

Come Correct

Somewhere 

out there

you're bleeding

and I wish

that I could help

but here we are

pretending

like we're able

to buy time.