Smile A While  #77
November 28, 1999

I can't tolerate a drunk; however, 
I tolerate myself on average 
     once a week
I scan through ashtray moods
 like late night cable.
So many images, so much to watch
but nothing is on. 
The streets are barren, 
the blades of grass are frozen
my plate is empty,
my wallet as well, and just as well
I have only begun to step foot 
     in this hell
where the heat
 of ripping electric flames 
is as painful as 
scrubbing my toilet clean
     late on a Friday. 
My mind gets cluttered with useless clamor; 
What were we arguing about anyway?
What do the Christmas lights
 look like from outside? 
the smell of my skin to someone else, 
my poor circulation, 
how exactly did I get that cut 
on my left hand?

He is disgusting, I am just the same.
Only he is foreign, and each day
I become more the same.
I give myself a pretend push
a pretend reason; an invisible noose 
to hang on to. 
My pulse won't quit
like my eyes, thoughts and this night, 
like the last song
I heard on the radio 
     driving home from the country,
where the simple landscape
made me smile

a while.