Boyfriend’s Lament

Her head is on my chest
I am choking on her hair
Christ, my shoulder hurts

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The Story of a Dream in a Story in a Dream

You were in my dream last night, most of which isn’t important
It was the normal affair of reality and lies twisted therein
But at end of it all you gave me a call
A call to me in a dream I had that you were in

You were saying that you had just had a dream
And that I was in this dream that you had
And we were in the desert among the starlight
I had done something neat, some sort of crazy feat
In this dream you had dreamed in the dream that I had dreamed last night

And right before you said what I did this dream
Some escapade fantastic, an exploit utterly mad
I woke up, confused and confounded
Amazed and astounded
At the dream within a dream that I just had

But I was disappointed with my slumber
At least with how it ended
For I never learned the exacts of my glory
What was so great about my midnight jaunt
To justify a multi-layered dark hour haunt?
I guess I’ll never know the whole story

And I blame you for my dis-satisfactory vision
You should talk faster, not so much ado
I think that it’d only be fair, though you were not really there
There, in the dream that you had that I was in
In the dream that I had that you were in, too.

confused-full

“Yeah . . . I’m sorry about . . . about doing that . . . I guess . . .”

Dedicated to My Current Hangover

Oh Hangover,

How do I – ow – love thee?

Let me count the ways;

. . .

. . . uh . . .

Well, there’s . . . no . . .

The highs aren’t as sweet if we do not travel to the low –

. . .

No, that’s not right . . .

. . . uhh, love is pain and – ow . . . no . . .

. . .

. . . I feel your love through every dry heave, through every churn in my stomach, through every pound in my head . . . no, that’s stupid . . .

Shit, I got nothing.

Fuck you Hangover, you dirty, filthy, rat-faced, sucker-punching, pig-tailed, knee-biting, party-crashing sonofabitch bastard.  Your cousin Hammered and his little brother Tipsy are just so cool, but they always bring you along for the ride because their mother feels guilty that no one likes you.

. . .

I’d say good riddance, but I know I’m going to be seeing you again tomorrow.

And the day after that.

And for the rest of my life.

Signed,

It Took Me All Day To Write This Because My Head Hurts So Much

An Ode to My French Press

The daybreak shines through my window
The light a blanket upon my body
Rise and to my French Press I go
For my morning sip and swig of coffee

I scoff at the Starbucks down the street
What of Coffee Bean? Please, don’t make me laugh!
I am man enough to make my own
But to drink a whole pot is a feat
I cannot hold an entire carafe
My stomach has shrunk as I’ve grown

But that’s why I love you, oh my French Press
You make enough for only one
Grounds and some salt to aid with bitterness
Hot water and pour, then I’m done!