Black Tuesday on a Blue Sunday

The sense of rejection
The fear gets lost
The style gets good
The junction is here
There is always a point
The distance is close
I can’t see it now
A gentleman’s cap
A loose conversation
I passed the point
Fuck the silhouette burned
In the lids of my eyes
Your face is stained
Upon the face of my thought
And all that you have
Is the rest of your life
And all that I have
Is a stolen ballpoint
The billiards, the camels
The hands, the scent
The stare, the cats
I never came with intent
The best, the most
I’d never render less
Because I’d offer more,
But then again, you never made the point.

Snow Globes

I bed the stranger.
I wed the toxic.
I love the different.
I hurt the dear.

I shake it up.
Peer through the glass.
There is no snow.
I still want in.

It isn’t mine.
No welcome sign.
Wince at my shoes.
For they won’t be coming
off this time.

Valentine Swine

I once caught a Virgin Atlantic to the dirty Pacific
For a blue eyed sailor on Whidbey Island.
With a Pink Floyd triangle across his heart.
Then in Madrid I got swept off the steps in Plaza de Sol.
Professed our love with our fingers.
In the pages of a Spanish-English dictionary.
I had to delete pictures from a weekend in Fort Worth.
It was there I found interest in the culinary arts.
I spent some time in a Grand Prix out in the Boston snow.
With a hockey player from Flint.
I left him for a morning in the Harvard dorms.
With a blue-blooded ginger I fell for in Cabo.
I once found redemption in the City of Sin.
From a reincarnation of a lost lover.
Ode to the blackouts in the city of lights.
Then there was the fierce and rugged Celtic Tiger.
I left my heart on the nightstand of a one night stand.
Before I got asked to kindly leave the country.
Though that was after I wandered up to Portland.
To catch a couple nights with an MC.
I made sure to catch his show before I caught a train.
There was the time I found the funk in the bottom bunk.
From sea-doos in Grand Cayman to his Staten Island estate
Then the lovely accountant from the horse races in Limerick
If only that silver fox would answer my calls.
I met a teacher in Dublin and a footballer from Cork
A med student from Athens, a musician from Georgia.
I woke up in a $30 million yacht in Newport Beach.
With the most beautiful lawyer I’d ever seen.
As I highlight this black book, it’s more divine.
That I will never discover her name.
I look down the page and their faces gleam up.
It sounds so lovely out loud.
I close my eyes and there is only darkness.
It appears so ugly jot down.
My heart scattered like bread crumbs across this earth.
Left like a trail, to be eaten by vultures.
With a hollow heart and an unmade bed.
I’ll never find my way home.

Happy Valentine’s.
14 February 2014
12:31am

Boxing Day

Flight booked.
Of all the people I imagined.
His name was not among them.
I close my eyes.

This may be great.
Possibly disastrous.
Unquestionably life changing.
I see his face.

No one is waiting for me.
This time I come accompanied.
I should be excited for this.
I pull him close.

I’m leaving.
I’m taking too much.
I can’t escape I with him with me.
I can feel his quiver.

Coat. Check.
Carton. Check.
Passport. Check.
I bite my lip.

It’s just another trip.
Just another continent.
Another commitment.
I call out his name.

I go to lose myself.
He comes to find me.
Christmas morning’s passed.
He isn’t here.

Lovelorn Swell In An Airport Hotel

*The 10:20 London-Los Angeles departs in twelve hours*

Grounded. In every sense of the word.
Lonesome in London for this one night.
Morbidly morose, even for the diversions of a hotel bar.
Instead I will choose to conclude 28 days of travel playing the game of solitaire.
Chain watching movies, a wretched sedative indeed.
The romance of poetic injustice, is there any other kind?

Our fates intertwine, but our paths won’t cross.
Will we ever know?
He doesn’t belong in my world.
This cyclical intertwining of our fates has yet again rendered me an alien in my own world.
I’m halfway out of Dodge.
What I would give to go back.
I check the rear-view, but the objects are further than they appear.

I’m a parasite, and he is poisoned.
I smell the blood red stench of vulnerability.
Capturing time and killing it well.
Clenching down, I wait for these stolen moments to pass.
Harder and harder I press through these soft thoughts.
Piercing through his walls, the truth drips from the lies.
I secure my grip, so now I can taste his intent.
Indulgent, I suck him dry, digesting all there is to offer.
This is not going to save him.
This is going to kill me.
Not before I kill this craving.

“Water too pure breeds no fish.”
– Mao Tse-tung

13 January 2013

Lovelorn Swell In An Airport Hotel by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.