II 

Anything can happen when you don’t know where you are

There will be two, maybe three chances

to forget and I will pass on each one.

Instead, you will remind me

of lost languages--

flowers that attempt to change

into stone. The last time we embraced

there was a storm that took the words

from our mouths--

after the disaster we will look

in the mirror, it will be Monday.

Your hair will be decadent--

my hands will mock the sun.

There she was. She was walking to the parking lot. Not too pretty. Not too busty. Not too rich. She was brunette. She lit a cigarette. It looked like a Salem. Or maybe a Kool. She was acting coy. I tried to put my finger on the thought. Press it down. Tie it up. I couldn’t remember. She took her keys out of her bag. Opened her car door. BMW. I got a picture. In my head. She started the car. 1982.  Talking Heads on the stereo. A girl. Brunette. She pulls out of her spot. Long hair and short heels. Backs out. A two room apartment. Puts the car in gear. It must have been love. She drives by me. I don’t remember her name. Doesn’t look in my direction. Can’t explain it.

Linus explains love to Charlie Brown

Of course the wind can’t change direction-- the last time it stood tall

the clouds knocked it down. There are too many excuses left to be used--

too drunk, too bored, too sober and not enough courage remains

to nail to the sticking place. I’m familiar with the sound of a horizon

when it falls to the earth-- it’s a sigh, a broken chord that hangs in the air.

She curses me from behind a cigarette, taunts me with visions and a promise

to catch a glimpse of  the Emerald City. The breeze dies at my feet, I am on a lost

highway with a bruised face and numb fingers. She never believed any words

that fell out of my mouth unless they broke into pieces as they hit the ground--

I watch the sky turn yellow and wait for gravity to bend a fork in the road.