Sullivan Street

Poems Q-Z

Starfish

Fifty miles from Laramie and trees are looking dusty. The afghan in the back seat is getting moldy and the cup holder broke off last Saturday night. Bass-line causes me to squint as you slowly rub my temples after licking index fingers with your tongue. The last time I remembered him this way the moon had been up for over three hours and its light made the bleachers look white. From a distance I almost thought that a glacier had worked its way under his seat. Common sense told me that in Pennsylvania in May snow is far from falling even though he wasn't. And I looked to the sky my mind meanwhile wandering.
And you tell me to forget what he said during that night of sitting under the stars.
He called my name and I slowly made my way to what transformed into metal as I got closer placing pictures in the shadow space. Before me stood a jungle and stumbling helped me find my way to him. "I bet the starfish are out tonight." he says as I remember the vacation we could have taken dreams of loosening up with a punching bag each morning while standing in the surf and rain. He laughs as the bottle cap falls through the bleachers fluttering like a dead leaf-- "The starfish!" he calls to the moon, "We're missing those damn starfish!" I shutter pulling the sweatshirt over my head legs still exposed and I count the moles that speckle my thighs as skin cancer in the making. "They could have been my biggest discovery!" Looking up at the sky shouting, shaking uncontrollably while tears soak through my shoulder and while time soaks through my mind.
Just like yesterday as we are fifty miles from Laramie the driver throws your bottle cap out the door and as I watch it dancing on the road. I swear I saw it turn into a starfish.

Unstoppable Scene

"1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8am, all alone again. And I've been through all this stuff before. Spend my nights in self defense, crying about my innocence, but I'm not all that innocent anymore."
---Counting Crows

I. San Diego, 1997. I called the operator for some directory assistance. Some help I got. After the reserection, I heard someone say, "Wont you dance with me?" Three years later, I said it five times fast... "Wont you dance with me?" "Wontyoudancewithme?" "Woentyoudanwitme?" "Woeintyoudannwitme?" "Woe int you dannwit me?" "WOE IN YOU, DAMMIT ME!" Distorted by coffee and spoiled creamers, I woke up at 2:39am to see that my window was open and I think that you got mad because they didnt know where I was. II. Sitting pretty in coffee shops fake knowledge set out in front of who they're feeling like being today... A poet, an athlete, a movie star or maybe a computer programmer. Books, books, books, books, laying out everywhere but not a page has been turned, just eyes around in their heads feeding off one another's brillance which will soon be discovered to act as the center of a rubberband ball one wrapped around the other pages turned, 80 in 5 minutes a world record set in ignorance and patchwork ideas layed out fickle in a row. III. There in the trees, I was totally me and romance was divine. I miss it. The department store counter lines itself every morning with new bottles and today when I went to return a pair of no-run nylons blemished up my calf I saw a bottle of you. So I coerced my hand to sacrifice for your odor semi-perminant. The rest of that Tuesday afternoon when ever I brushed my bangs out of my eyes I thought as if you were doing it for me auto-pilot took over and I cursed myself for forgetting to have brushed my teeth after breakfast. IV. It is a shame that the dance stopped early and you fell out onto the porch with a girl who will never be me. Maybe that is what you want... But the books lined up dont lie even though you do as she reaches into your knapsack and pulls out some sort of pyschology journal because you can "read minds", or atleast you think you can and all I can chew around in my head is that every day with you was like five minutes to midnight, 1999 not knowing what was going to happen when it became a brand-new year.

Sonnet#4:Behind My Own Bars

Bellowing wisdom annoints the first born. Cautiously breaking, stand in the waking thoughts still are making, hopes meanwhile breaking the life never had is feeling forlorn. Ignoring all truth, grasp hard for the stars. Ones without promise that lead to demise soul ache and heartbreak, Deaths perfect disguise held now inprisioned behind my own bars. Walls that are rotting look solid enough. Thoughts filled with anger begin to take flight. Walls caving in as my day becomes night. Shamefully calling, escape remains tough. He calls out my name with sunlight and love Should I climb this rope, escape from above?

Waking Up

"So many pictures make up a memory, like she says she likes to watch me sleep."
----Counting Crows

You came by my heart slowly one night... Forever, I thought I would have to wait. Unless I someday decide differently, clearly you belong with me and I know that my eyes were made soley with the mission of every morning waking up to look at you.

Smiled Me Like That

You were creeping up on me while I watched the people walk by then in a vicious stare I fixiated on you and instantly froze. If I am wrong about this then I might as well crumble because nobody else could have smiled me like that.

Someone Else's Dreams (written after reading "Death of a Salesman")

"You get what you pay for, but I just had no intentions of living this way."
---Counting Crows

You are the best lip reader in the world do you read minds too? How is it, to live inside someone else's dreams? He knew all his Daddy told was lies to slap on the hurt and lead to future demise all covered up by a well liked disguise. Tell me, is living in anothers dreams, like walking a mile in their shoes? Or sitting alone on a Saturday Night at a table meant for two? A man never got to the moon by looking at the past. A man never learned to swim by surveying the bottom. But as we all jumped in with our hair growing thin all we knew was bottom and our time is going fast. In someone else's dreams. Sitting in a stationwagon, waiting for the sun. My hope and peace is dragging because the sun, it never comes. So the light we defile as we sit for a while and fake a big smile because the dark is never fun. We only want the sun. Our lives have since begun. Each day, each hour deep as it sems, you are living inside their dreams. One man, one face one word, one place reminds me of their embrace. I remember laughs and screams. Sillohetts of what life means. So lets leave things as they are right now. "While everybodys happy and got what they want... or everybodys got what they THINK they want..." But if you could read minds inside them you could see your dreams.

Ride with the Wilderness

The doors close, the motor whimpers and we begin to drive. I cannot help but notice the way you choose your adjectives--- or the fence of trees that line the road like a border, seperating us from the wilderness. Us from the wilderness ? I chuckle at the thought because the wilderness has somehow crept into our minds and mouths. The once silent car now fills with harsh reality and steel walls, now border the road from what we have become. For every mile that we drive forward two miles are driven back without you even realizing this irony in my mind.

Two Years Old

I dont remember life without Karen I only recall after. Her in a high chair watching me make cookies with our Mother and fumbling with a teething ring while I mixed the batter.

Who You Are

Before I left that night I heard you chuckle to yourself about the movie we had seen and my reaction to the scary parts-- because I am so sensitive.

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