I should have called them "Thelma & Louise"

...for surely I am driving my first submissions to an official publication over a cliff to their fiery demise.

So I guess I should start singing something to the effect of "999,999 Letters of Rejection in the Mail." It might serve to keep the spirits up.

Mmm, spirits. That's an idea.

Scratch Card

'I have no chocolate
to give you,' he says as he
offers me his heart

He futzes with my
bra and we fall back laughing,
too young to get it

She's something of a
fraction that has overshot
itself, repeating

Imagining how
he sips her succulence slow,
I smell the flowers

A conspiracy
of silence virtually
erases the fact

Return Trip

Sometimes I wear your socks.
In lieu of you, your socks.
Empty reminders I keep in a drawer.
I want to fill them with feet,
Sometimes.

Sometimes I pretend that we were just socks,
two in a pair,
that got lost on the way to the dryer.

These socks reminisce with me,
whispering of
clumsy late-night love
in a room too small,
in a town too big.

Sometimes your socks speak;
they bring back blisters,
my worn out sneakers skipping over
sidewalk cracks and anthills.

Your socks too thin,
and my heels burning.
I think it’s fitting,
as the sun peeks over apartments and
spies on my clandestine morning stroll.

How I wonder—
will anybody notice
bleary-eyed, tousled me?