Pilsen

Loomis St.

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Irish pies, they make their own crust!

buy beer and

drop names to

get us through conversation

it’s been months

ride back and

get drunk

under black stars it’s been months

‘there goes the neighborhood’ while groping in the dark

W. Superior

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Desperation to get

to a glass building

Is that why we

had

to take a cab?

I lost track of your words

and

tried to keep up

and

answered your questions wrong because

the sun!

was in my eyes

Driver was four minutes away

Had to turn around

Who stood on that corner with me?

Ode

12th st beach September

 

“It’s going to be alright”

Is what you would say around one in the morning when we were two beers in. You’d smile and we’d be quiet and these were the nights you’d be good. These were the nights you’d relax and set down your sadness for a while. I would take it and go out to the yard to throw it as far as I was able so we could talk about books and musicians and how you ruined your clothes at the laundromat. Slivers of skies and German chamomile hung all around us and I didn’t love you. The wine was gone and so was the twilight and you didn’t love me either. But it was all ok then. Only months later when I realized you never came to my birthday and you never said goodbye did it start to break me. What happened to you? Did the drugs finally get you? What happened to me? Did the cold finally get me? You never would have moved to the coast with me. You never would have taken me anywhere not even to the plains states where they write poetry and take Xanax and binge on their own self pity. To think I wanted to see it for myself! To think I wanted to take a picture with you for that newspaper story about the not-quite-dead. My tongue rebelled at the taste of yours. I always preferred candy to cigarettes but you never understood so instead we drank our herbal liquors till we passed out.

And then it was Thursday again.