The Photographic Process
None of the pictures
I took
of you while we were together
turned out
very good they’re all to dark
I guess
it’s all right if i looked
at your face
I’d go crazy, i guess
I’m Not As Pretty As I Used
To Be
“Can I have this dance”
I said
“No”
You said, and laughed
We danced for a long time
“We don’t dance much anymore”
I asked
“No”
You said, and cried
We were sad for a long time
The Thoughts That Rush Through
Your Synapses At A Million Miles Per Second
All those flashing, failing lights
In front of my house startled
me
I thought, perhaps, I’d died
And no one cared to tell me!
It turns out my neighbor
The nice one, who baked cookies
And sang real pretty through the
walls
Had killed herself
The bullet exited the chamber
Traveled through
The roof of her mouth
Through her brain
Exploding with a brilliant crimson
flash
Her head fell to the desk
There was nothing they cold do
Her body was dead
Her soul had died that day too
Nobody knew
They found a letter in her hand
From her lover
They found a lot, about 100
Which told a sad tale of love
Gone wrong
Classic, from the times of Shakespeare
I guess this means
No more cookies
And no more singing
And no one to talk to
When my date canceled
Or my friends forgot
To show up
Or just those lonely
Friday nights we’d talk
Of everything
Like why the Earth
rotates around the Sun
And my theories of evolution
She was a good listener
She told stories too
Of being a little girl
In Paris and walking
The empty streets at night
I was the only one
At her funeral
Except a dog
Who wandered in for the rain
I named him after her
And it took me home
That was 2 years ago
I decided to go
To Paris with the dog
And walk the empty streets
At night
