Dancing Like My Mother

1. You need to know that
absolutely everything about
your sex life is absolutely
important to absolutely everyone
do not hesitate to bring it up
in public or private.

2. drink jager
drink whiskey
make out with your
exboyfriend's exbestfriend
even though it doesnt feel
too good.
do it bc you arent supposed to.
make assumptions that everyone at
the bar either hates you
or wants to fuck you
or both.
get a drink for your friend
twice. lose your jacket bc
you are too drunk
to remember that you didnt lose
your jacket but instead put
it in the dj booth which you never
do.
and when it's time to take your photo
in the back of the bar
where everyone is taking photos
with the photographer or doing coke
with the photographer
and they are wearing all black
some with leather
some with obviously expensive
high heels the boys in awe of your outlandish
make up
or scared of it
or dismissive of it
like you NEED that attention,
when you go get your photograph
turn into a 2 dimensional cut out of
a person instead of a person itself
become the flattest thing
become the photo before the photo is even taken
drink jager
drink whiskey
drink water
don't go home
go to the diner and order a burger with a fried
egg on top
eat all your fries and your friend's onion
rings and most of the sausage appetizer
act like you don't care
about anything
don't care about anything
eat the side of cottage cheese
look desirously at the friend
you dont desire
just to see
bc you think maybe
he put his foot on yours
under the table on purpose
not by accident.
get hurt when he doesnt
look desirously back
insult him in your mind
blame him for not being able to get
beyond the cult of masculinity,
for not being open to OTHER forms
of men, to OTHER ways of looking or being
to OTHER OTHERs.
drink coffee at 4 am
take a cab home
then get on the internet for an hour
your eyes half open
your hand absently teasing a hardon
from your dick
then absently teasing an orgasm from that.
sleep.

Posted by Johnny at 8:17 PM | Permalink | Comments

He rolls over in sleep
taking with him
the brown egyptian cotton top sheet
a birthday gift
the brown quilted comforter
also a birthday gift
the creamsicle and robin's egg comforter
and lastly the white and stained down comforter
your right wrist
your left shoulder gets exposed
your arms are wrapped around
the person sized pillow
also a birthday gift
that floats between the bed and wall
on a pile of more blankets (black, brown, tan).
The light is on, you can hear it humming,
it leaks in under the grey bandanna you've tied on your eyes
to keep it out.
He snores
half snores
or rather
snores half the time
you dream about the ex lover.
the fat one with the perfectly patterened chest
and body hair
you dream the he is making out with someone else
in your house but its you
the covers move again
you are in your room
and you in your dream
with your fingers pressing firmly on his chest
biting at the flesh on his ribs
hair in your teeth.
You can hear the coffee grinder
you can hear a little bit of street noise
a street lady crying loudly then whoop whooping
under the window.
You smell the coffee.

Posted by Johnny at 8:11 PM | Permalink | Comments

1.
The moon's half there.
You can see the other half
somehow, the dark part
the hidden part.
and clouds that look just like the sky
obscure that big pitchfork tower
that sticks out at the end of market street
you can see the tips of it,
three points, floating in the greyness of it.
a smoke stack down 6th, thin like a cigarette,
puffs slow moving White up,
it billows, almost as still as a painting.
if it were a painting of itself no one would
know the difference.
2.
You walk quickly past the just opening fruit market
on the corner, your grey rabbit fur vest zipped
all the way up to the neck, your shoulders
drawn up toward your ears and your neck
down, trying to turtle into the fur.
A black plastic bag with a soup container
of dark sweet creamed coffee hangs from
your right wrist, the container tapping your thigh
with each step forward. the coffee is described
by it's roaster:
"if it were any thicker it would be syrup"
you shudder against the cold.
It's not wet out. It's not dry.
The morning grey sky pushes down on you,
your ears still wet from the shower prickle.
A man leans on a tree with three of his fingers
wedged into his mouth, barely bent over, just maybe
his neck tilted, mucous and bile flood
over his hand down his wrist and splash wetly
on the ground.
His watch drips with fluids, the cuff
of his soiled military green parka soaked.
You step around feces
you step over feces
you step around a person
you step over a persons leg
you cross the street
you light a cigarette, with a match
you taste sulfur
the tower at the end of market
looks like a ship a pirate ship
floating in the sky
its bottom cut off by clouds
but they're the same color as the moon
as the sky
and as your vest
Someone told you it was designed
to look like a ship floating on the fog
when it rolled in
When heather was in town you made a joke about the fog
you called it sky AIDS. Spreading through the city.
Sky AIDS.
SKAIDS for short.
You didnt know if you were positive or negative then
you were waiting, uncomfortably for test results.
You still call it that, SKAIDS.
Your mouth tastes like stale cigarette.
And your head aches just a little bit around the edges
from last nights tequila, it was so sweet.

Posted by Johnny at 12:11 PM | Permalink | Comments

1.
I kick over the whiskey, because I can't make Mario
jump high enough.
I bounce off the head of a turtle.
But when I die I bend to drink from the half
full whiskey glass of my friend.
I lean back so my shoulders touch the feet of
a boy I might like.
He does not notice. I do not notice.
Mario jumps high again.

2.
When he did not jump high enough
I let out a sound a 2nd grader might
at the same situation. Or rather
I let out a sound that my second grade
self might've let out.
I think I was smarter then (though not as
knowledgable). I was smarter about
being a person in the world.
Often on the bus I look around and wonder
"How did you all get here? like really
how exactly did you get here and become a person
this morning?"
Mario jumps high on the screen, I bounce off of
certain things and aim to impress my friends with
my moves. We are gathered onto a foam top
mattress in front of a large tv in a small room.
Two of them date, but the other is new
his first time hanging out with us.
To watch the movie we had to get on the bed real
close, my arm was on his and his knee on mine
and I wondered if he noticed as much as me
or if it even matters, or mattered.
I kicked over the whiskey and diet coke because
I could not jump high enough and i got excited
or dissapointed
or excitedly dissapointed.

Posted by Johnny at 5:02 PM | Permalink | Comments

I don't mind that I stole from you
the description of your hair
(a hat of broken rusted nettles),
I stole from you the flavor of kisses
(salty tear taste with the edge of dark chocolate).
I don't mind the place i live in
with its bent in half people toothless and smiling
(pushing words from broke down mishapen mouths)
begging for coins or booze or booze for coins.
Yeah I don't mind the way we drink
endlessly, out or in the house,
with ice, from a glass, from a bottle,
already drunk, stone cold sober or hungover,
I don't mind that we don't seem to want to or know how
to stop. Yeah I don't mind
that sex has become a chore.
I remember seeing dogs fucking, the way the moved
quickly without regret shame or hesitation, yeah sex is like that.
I don't mind that I just wanna fuck my friends,
because I like them enough, because I like ruining things.
I don't mind that I smoke even when i don't want
to
because i like feeling short of breath
I like the headache shaky hands and brief joy
and i like the way smoke looks coming out
of my mouth like I'm magic inside or something.
Yeah I don't mind that you gave me all the sadness
you've been carrying around for 26 years
behind those doe down turned long straight lashes
and deepish brown eyes, I don't mind
that when you cried you'd sit on the edge of the bed
with snot pouring out of you in a puddle
I don't mind that I had to break your heart
and then you turned into a scary coke head and
prostitute
Yeah I don't mind that I stole a description
of love from you, what'd you say?
"like a bird caught in the cage of your ribs"?
I think it was that. yeah.

Posted by Johnny at 3:01 PM | Permalink | Comments