coffeewhiskey

so I'm twenty two and a week and a couple days.
First thing I wrote being twenty two

Corner Stores

in the desk drawer, of the smallest armoire
at the corner store, where the nails and needles are kept
every earthquake is felt and every aftershock shook
the hinges were old and the oak would give
on october twenty ninth, two thousand four
the needles escaped and rolled right out the door
the nails followed in tintinnabulation
down lawton into nineteenth, where an old bum sleeps
and a tire was popped, a seventy nine Buick skids
into an old autumn pole, where all our conversations hid
and they spilled out in sparks onto the busy street
where cars crashed just to avoid what strangers in cities have to say
a thousand needles, careened down lawton into nineteenth
a thousand nails, like rolling scores, armed to the teeth
the rescue efforts began at noon, men and women gathered sandbags
hid all their children's balloons
their best defense lie in hammers and thread
nineteenth had all but lost
a river of cars now inching forward in a sea of exhaust
an old bum was pricked
there were a million nails and only one screw
the needles would be swept into donated pillows
the nails would be pounded into only one board
pounding shut the door at the corner store
on the top of lawton where in an old desk drawer
in the biggest armoire there waited only more.


oh and I'm getting a tattoo this year if its the last fucking thing I do.