a Little Further Out Past the Diner

the electric nights of revenged blue fire dwindling inside chest cavity. the women all walked by with top unbuddoned lace carved necks, hanging from neon denial their inner selves was available for display. the coffee was strong now and waitress came and went leaving behind subtle hints for me to lounge on. coffee pot walking ball of sunshine working like machine made maid crazy eyed shooting back and forth. refilling cups, darting around corners with plates full of food, small beads of sweat collecting on her forehead as her hair stuck to it. she was dancing a ballet in the diner, a fine dance of crazy animation, i tried to figure out her next moves and she came and went hustling up the aisle. bring him a fork, he wants some ketchup, get someone to clear the next table, those guys are running low on water, we need more coffee, guy bitching about his food, order up at the window, it was like watching a knife edge on a flint, sparks, sparks, sparks, i was waiting fire. 

i was waiting. time was growing, numbing overwhelming sense of desolation. it was not so much a bad thing, the times were great where one did not have to be somewhere at some time with some one to accompany him. the whole damn thing was mine for the taking and i could get up, sit down, be here and there however i wanted without having to report my movements to the upstairs. although at times, late into the night, i would grow cold, and would try to read to get over the thoughts. it came in waves, and i was learning how to determine when it would climb and when it would recede and how i had to make adjustments in order to keep it going. 

she was back now, asking me if i would like some more coffee, i kept typing, i said no, she asked me if i needed anything else, i said no and she had been a sweetheart, then i turned my laptop around and let her read what i was writing. 

pause.

she burst out laughing and walked away. great, now my favorite waitress thinks i'm weird. meh, what can you do? 

it continued on like that for sometime, comfort was not without and overbearing sense of boredom. 

Strike the Mistress and  Cure his Heart.

the face plastic
smile cheap like the wine
hips slender down into bones
tits hanging out
waiting for someone
conversations were no longer fun
the game was lost in
tramps
she hid herself well
the days had drawn in on themselves
and we were left with hard nights
or at least he was
she never had to be anything
other than sweet
and that was good enough for those
other boys
but not well off
for him.
he turned his head
away
away from everything
that would only frustrate him
demolish him
and keep him back
she was too heavy to carry
so he left her out there
to ruin someone else's life
or to be ruined herself
by someone who
she wouldn't mind be ruined by.
it's better to travel alone
read alone
dance and drink
write and breath
sucker punched the old dying boy
who wasn't well off enough
loving life enough
dumb enough
to be enough.
enough?
who want's to be enough
when you can be
so
much
more
than
that
and who
is
she
to
validate
him?
drawn on silver moon
by solitude.

The Pogues (get on up to get back down again)

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
Kissed a girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Clouds a drifting across the moon
Cats a prowling on their beat
Spring's a girl in the street at night
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Heard a siren from the docks
Saw a train set the night on fire
Smelled the spring on the smoky wind
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I'm going to make me a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fire
Will chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
Kissed a girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Sweater Puppies

they circled me, like vultures smelling dying body. these Orange County women were vultures, at least from what i could tell. they didn't so much look trashy, as they did look cheesy and rotten. ideal mates for douche bag unoriginal macho testosterone fueled males. i cringed as they got near me, their perfume tickled my nose and i wanted to sneeze and cough all at once. fake tan, blond hair, blue eyes, clothing that represented some far transplant from somewhere upstate New York, or perhaps the Jersey Shore. these were not women, they were Barbie dolls, and if this is what women were suppose to look like, then this country has gotten the images so ass backwards that we might as well start drinking the kool aide and stop asking for anything more. it was not only the older cougar roaming women who bore this wretched look, i could see the little cubs in training already, the young 20 something girls with surgically implanted smiles sucking on their iced coffee yammering on about themselves in a positive light.  not offering an opinion about anything, agreeing with anyone who would validate their severe lack of personality and hopelessly looking for that male who would provide them with "security".

the common thread between these women, and the one i've been noticing for sometime now, is their intent on showing off their breast (or as i like to call them "sweater puppies").  how far have we come as humans? does the size of your breast directly coincide with your intelligence? why don't you leave just a little bit to the imagination? do you have to show almost all of them? the more you show the more attention right? do you really want all that attention if you're just going to whine about how men won't see beyond your body and be gentlemen like? i get it, maybe you like dirty bastards like that who make you feel bad? or maybe you just like  dressing with low cut shirts? perhaps, women don't even know they're doing this, and are clueless to the result that they have on the male mind? i will admit, i love me some fine  breast, but when a girl just puts them out there like that, on display, it makes me want to not even approach them. i've already seen it, there's no mystery left. and if you're the kind of girl that feels the need to fill that empty void inside of you by doing so, and along with it being obedient like, then you've stop  being human and have become a piece of work. you're just something they trot around like a damn fine mare, the rabbit at the greyhound, or the dogs at the dog show. humans have thoughts, ideas, imagination, integrity and values.  

you have none of those

but your're pretty and have big tits.

why do i want to talk to you again?

a complete

day.

as people
no matter where we go
when we go
how we go
we have a brain
capable of memory
capable of emotions
and capable of lots and lots of things
given the opportunity to do this again
i wouldn't of changed a thing
if a beautiful girl like you
is kind enough to kiss a man like me
then it's my duty to kiss you right back
and be good to you
as you've been good to me
no goodbye
you have business
and you are strong
you move forward
as everyone in this world
is strung along
believe in yourself
you make shit happen
you are
above else
capable of everything
you're in my heart
whether you like it or not
your smile
your touch
your snuggle
your warm naked body next to me
as the sun comes in through your blinds
and shines down on your sexy body
and
your beautiful laugh
the smile you give my face
this is not an end
don't think of it like that
this is
opportunities
and i believe
that when you come back
full fledged
and deep
i'll be waiting at the gates
with flowers for you
don't fret baby girl
we've got something good

oh boy,
oh gosh,
oh golly oh my,
how great it is
to stand
beside
the death trap
and be able to look down
into their and laugh
dance
and not need to pray
not need to hope
not need to place faith
devotion
into any falseness.
to be able to smile
and know
damn well know
about everything.
and ask those questions
about everything.
oh my
oh may.