PntOfNoReturn210

You toast to the few out there with shoulders soggy from your tears. Every sip is an attempt to drown those memories behind every frown. It's memories that forbid the past to end, all the thoughts behind the bones that won't mend. Siphon out the truth from the lies and sift through how the words are percieved and implied.

Fille! Fille! dreaming dazedly On a dock by the sea, What wishful boy or song Could seize thy sublime affection? For what awkward reason or rhyme Is it you sit alone tonight? In what manner did he confess? Did it not warrant a yes? And what fear, & what hope Could tremble the hands with each joke? And when thy palms begin to sweat, What cause trust? & what cause threat? With what lust? with what desire? Can change any boy into a liar? With what motive? what dire cause? Seeks its every victim’s flaws? When the hosts mixed up their drinks And armed the boys with their winks. Did he offer one to you? Did he mean it was he

Perhaps someone terribly late for work or a husband mid-argument with his wife, sped unyielding as the yellow light went dark. As bloody as Shiloh and just as brief Sounds of screeching tires rose to like alarms bent on deterring a thief. A girl driving a Mazda Six from Japan pulls off the road onto the soil, to check the state of her friend Marianne? Now the wait begins. Just watch the oil pool. Cars stitch together a trail like the train of a wedding dress. The crash’s thread from the spool. Frustrated people crammed in cars like sardines. How long until the kids in those bucket seats mess up their cars, previously prist

There was a way the tourists trudged down the slopes; Cattle herded by signs, “You must be this tall to ride.” They wandered through the maze of ropes. Fanny-pack clad kids with no sense of time dragged their parents through the never-ending line. Among all this there was just the six of us with arms and legs all intertwined; a regular can-can line without the kicks. There were games of tag played merely with hips and games of slaps until our palms burned. Jokes and laugher escaped from our lips and only ceased as the line neared out turn. Now a letter is as close as we come: “How are you doing? I miss you old chum

Winters thawed, it’s that time of year, as love ballads bleed from iPod speakers. Silly girl Easter eggs are for kids and love is only found in movie scripts. You spread your legs, and they the rumors this time. Just pray they’re the only thing to multiply. I guess his front held; even through your shirts depart, but he didn’t unbutton your shirt to be closer to your heart. So ignore those bells you heard as you kissed. You’re just one of many on his cell phone list. You were just his spring fling, only a toy to play with for the time being.

It’s just a slip of the tongue, so just tell this boy your epic tale. It’s easy to gain confidence armed with an eighty proof bottle. He’s saying everything you wanted to hear. The  buzz kicks in and you’re more than impressed. Now even his textbook lines sound sincere and you hardly notice his eyes locking with your chest. It’s time for a different slip of the tongue. Just gulp it down; it’s time to settle. You’ve got questions fueled by a liquid lust. Now you’re dangerous with an eighty proof bottle. Still haunted by the insecurities of which you never spoke? It’s ok.  Drop to your k

The beginning of the end with every breath, as another grain of sand piles in the glass. Ultrasound, it’s as real as the water breaking. Cue the long distance calls from friends and family. Congrats are in order you’re growing up. So, trade your cases of beer for boxes of grape juice and poker games for goldfish. But when you’re awake, at three in the morning, and your wife’s torso expands, remember Jessica Alba’s in your dreams.

The lights dimmed as I pushed my way forward, past a couple attached at the tongue. "My tongue’s the only muscle of my body that works harder than my heart" Cheers arose at the motion of the pick. Hundreds of lips danced in harmony. Epileptic shoes obeyed the drumsticks colliding in the flashing lights. Converse battled Vans for air. And a lone flip-flop flew through the crowd, barely missing that passionate pair, obviously unaware of the performance. The lights wheezed blue as the tempo slowed. Hands never missing a beat, swayed. Broad coarse hands struck lighters. While dainty manicures dawned cell phones. "It’