triangulate

sitting outside the laundry
black halter top with skin spilling
over the sides, shorts
a little too
loose, try to fall off
her skinny sliding hips down
under her pot
belly she watches this midnite
street for a sign like
he wouldn't drink away all his money
for real he wouldn't spill
his guts to the barmaid wouldn't
go home with that, forgiven
and wasted in the morning where
he used to live.


i feel so alone.
all the time. no one
to relate too this exile
i made for myself from a katatonic
love. love. what did
love do to me take from me give to me.

mountain of me. i am the tip
of everest, waiting for thaw.