Smoke Season

I miss cigarette season. Those fleating nights when we denyied ourselves no indulgances, broke every little rule, went back on that long list of last year's New Years resolutions. Alright. Lets be bad. Just one pack for tonight's adventure. Just another pack for another of our cozy mornings after. Ciggerette season. All our worries exhaled up and disapated.

Drinks....a "character" ordered.

Why is it so hard to get laid? My legs were like social networking. Open. Current. Accessible. Accessible, like that album review you read on Pitchfork. Accessible, like some novice to teach..eager to please.  Accessible, like that last beer ill always let you finish. I know i'll never say it, but it's hard keeping up with you. I was trashed three beers ago. Thanks for catching my epic "trip over nothing" so quietly. Ego and me ordered another drink each hour, though I knew ego was full of shit. Why's it  so hard? I don't know what I did to deserve it, but I deserve to get laid. I shaved my legs twice today. But I deserve to get laid. Wore a thin dress today. Deserve to get something. ..Something. You know I do. I ate each olive from your glass. Olives make my whole face pucker. Man, I twirled my hair and was persistently witty.. you didn't brush my leg once. It was right there. Warm. Inviting. Uncrossed. Why's it so hard to laid? Why so hard on a summer night?

Reflections on all those men I said good bye to.

My body looked so different in those shards of new light, all beaming in from our open window circumstances. Your body looked different too. In a late coming, moment of tenderness, you wrapped your arm around my back, your long fingers resting on my shoulder. In that moment, I was no longer embarrassed of my dozens of freckles and clumsy scars. It felt like you drew them all yourself, tracing each one when I finally gave in, gave my body to you as a happy easel. Imagine what we could have painted.. I could have been a sculptor, wielding our lips together..connect all my dots. You found some joy in speaking, something you long had hated. In those hasty nibbles on each other's ear lobes, we wanted so badly to listen.

"I don't like feeling things."

"I don't like talking about um."

"Lets fuck again."

After all the back and forths between us, I never expected how content I'd feel, just listening to you talk about the weather. Your voice sounded so different when you buried your head in my neck. When I dropped my chin down, every mistake we might have made, just muffled out. Your weather forecast drove me wild. More so then all our early morning text messages.

"I wish I would have found you sooner. I would have probably stayed at your house forever. I think I would have fallen in love with you."

"Knowing my luck, you would have fallen out of love with me just as fast. We're never gonna find out now are we?"

"I'm so tired of saying good-bye all the time."

"And I've never been good at good-byes, so can't we call it something else? Can't we just kiss like nothing is going to change? Can we just have till we meet agains? I just want some subjectivity...why does good bye have to be so certain, so permanent, so long? Can't we just meet again?"

You smiled. I could have spent hours, making faces, tickling your knees, determined to get what I wanted from you, that soft spot in your voice when you smiled at me.

"We will always have the songs huh? What am I going to do when I hear them again? Can I stop myself from running to you, slow dancing alone..does that work?'

One last hug, I wanted to disappear into your chest. I wanted to start a new life in your bed but you didn't have one anymore. Mine was so far away and too familiar.

"Here's to you having the good life."

"Till we meet again."

Cryptozoology and Essays on Human Existence: Beast of Exmoor

Beast of Exmoor! You famous, yet elusive beast. 100 sheep and throats could never feed you like I would. I'll dangle all that folklore, above your head, unraveled yarn. No one else knows you kitty. Leave the puma on the farm.












Image found on: http://www.everythingexmoor.org.uk/exmoor_encyclopedia_detail.php?id=125

Cryptozoology and Essays on Human Existence: Beast of Dean

Beast of Dean! All the trees did fall before your clumsy hooves. I too, was floored. The villagers all called you "Moose-pig." Pitchforks and rifles called you a failed hunt. One unearthly roar to make me believe for decades.





Image from: http://genelempp.wordpress.com/2011/08/03/superstition-legend-and-mystery/

Cryptozoology and Essays on Human Existence: Beast of Dartmoor

Beast of Dartmoor! I knew the devil would find me. Knew, you knew I was coveted. With a heart like a squire, the devil's hunting pack always follows. With fur like the black night, you drag me screaming every time.













Image from: http://mogollonmonster.com/mitchs_cryptic_corner_everything_with_a_b

Cryptozoology and Essays on Human Existence: Beast of Busco

Beast of Busco! You snapped my heart in half as I tried to see inside your wide 500 pounds of shell. Farmers got an eye for the pond. I had an eye for drained lakes and traffic jams. All I wanted was an inch of your wet neck..one usable photo would suffice. Each year I watch a turtle race. Skinny dipping never caught me a turtle.





Image from: http://www.cryptozoonews.com/beastbusco2011/comment-page-1/