I’ve been lonely for so long it’s hard to let it go And I don’t know, if I still know how to fall in love I play tricks in my own mind like saying two plus two is five By saying just cause I’m lonely I’m not alone And I’m breaking like waves do over the rocky shore And no matter how much trust I give it hasn’t brought me more. At bus stops, in bookstores, or walking in the woods it just feels good to live inside my mind. Surrounded by strangers where no one my name I am unashamed of the solitude I find. And when I go dancing, I move like no one can see. The wall paper is made of eyes, but probably no one’s watching me oh pull me away; raise up the shades on a rainy day I made light bulbs from my heartache with an obsolescent glow And sometimes I will run out in my sundress though the rain And I’ll smile for my audience of one. I lift my face up slow to look at the stars tell me I’m small. They shimmer like sweat does, like dew as they clearly call Alone is the meaning they say, the meaning of it all And in the briefest of moments before my ego recalls I understand how lonely is not a fatal fall

She said: there’s no repeating All the words she rolled to you with her own tongue Death set like pennies on the railroad track In a nightmare mingled with the truth She said: “what if now I can’t get back to you?” X2 Postmarks that read like disappointment whispers that you meant send a long time ago Collect like leaves inside the gutter your flooded heart it sputters now for June and the undertaker took the sun down at high (C)noon Seeing signs like fleeting you’re turning down your chin At the bottom of the Battle there’s a ship to sail away in When immortality seems like it’s given or for free You want to break it down like she brought you to your knees She said, or would’ve if she’d been there “Picture me in sun bit trees and let me go” You heard the glass break on your forehead The phone call that you let fall of the hook to cry into a photograph you took. Forget is not a word you know There is no after glow just love For the girl whose happiness will always have been rushed For the girl whose happiness will always be

Pictures of naked women line the stores along the street. They don’t make me feel inadequate, they make me feel more complete. Sometimes I want to talk to them so they could prove me wrong. Other times I pretty sure that we just wouldn’t get along. They're working on cars. They’re hanging out at beaches and bars. This one’s named Diana. She’s got a hammer and some plush toy handcuffs. And maybe something’s wrong with me but she doesn’t make me want to buy hardware. She makes me want to sigh. She makes me want to roll my tired eyes and blame someone for something bigger than putting up this stupid picture cause it’s exhausting to insist on her underlying humanity. Pictures of naked women in every trashy magazine. When I was young they made me ugly. Now they just make it hard to read. And looking in her coked out eyes I wonder what she sees. Perhaps she’s proud of her portfolio, accomplished, and at ease. I bet she never farts. There’s a bottle of booze over her private parts. And I don’t drink what she’s selling, but I know the brand now so I guess it’s working. And If I saw it at a party I would think of her and laugh. It’s hard not to feel superior and then I feel like a fool in the reflecting pool; so shallow and so heavy handed-- a puritanical fun bandit. How did I become so damned and hopelessly self-aware? I am a naked woman about a quarter of the time. When I’m sleeping. When I’m loving. When the opportunity arises. To say I never use the way I look would be a lie, but I’m uncomfortable with sex appeal; it makes me feel frivolous and expendable. I kind of don’t believe it, that a straight man would fall for a dumb trick like that. And I’m not convinced of my body’s power, but I feel his eyes on me and it makes me sour. I never wanted this I never asked I never asked for any of this Pictures of naked women line the stores along the street. They don’t make me feel inadequate the make me feel more complete. And I’m sorry but I wrote you off as shallow, I concede It’s a sticky kind of vanity you make me feel more complete.

Leave the lights on in the houses where the monsters all come in. They’re afraid of the dark too you know, They’re afraid of all their fickle sins Don’t shoot the messenger, I sent him for my love Underneath the floor boards where you hid my heart like a hit and run. Cause in the morning nothing’s simple like it was Back while the alcohol was thinning out our raging blood you kissed me like a palindrome of sandpaper and mud. I heard you bought a submarine to put your ego in So that it wouldn’t feel the pressure as you drowned yourself in beer and gin. Don’t ask me for a favor; I’ve been cutting you out from under my skin Since I heard you hurt someone else like you swore you’d never do again. I’m tired of trying so damn hard to stay a monster’s friend. Maybe we are each other's victims. Maybe we wear each other’s chains I know I’ll hold this heartbreak to the shores of other lover’s names. I can’t describe it. I’m terrified by it just the same. I always spot you across a crowded room you watched me freeze you were frozen too. I had just been thinking of you and how much I hate to think of you. Deer in the headlights someone grabbed my panicked arm. Dragged me to some god sent place where my trembling branches rode the storm. You haunt me even when I leave the lights on In the houses. Am I no better, or do I know better than you do? Someone told me that you’ve been a mess that you call me monster too, But there’s a wall between my malice and my bliss. If I could I ‘d hate you if I could I’d take back every kiss. But instead I leave the lights on to pretend you don’t exist.

Driving north form anywhere to home She is the city we avoided Hungry in a nation that feeds itself on pride There are no return receipts for all the dreams that only pained her Oh Holyoke tired and broke Don’t let the river drown you dry 1849 with Irish hands and time She made an engine from the river Immigrants unlocked the door from Warsaw and Quebec they poured And some got rich but she stayed poor Factories that mortal used to breath The billows black, the rags and fleas. Paper is the prophit’s tool no poems writ on tradesman’s gruel Empty buildings, empty hearts, for Montreal she’s pining Oh Holyoke the fire won’t stoke Don’t let the river drown you dry Houses got cheap and empty on Bridge St. A Puertorican lullaby Come to cut tobacco leaf and hope to fall asleep in peace; Threatened makes a circle when the rumors and the stakes are high Church bells ring out on every catholic sin we heard them calling from the highway Lucid is her sacrifice she prays she won’t be lost in vice She only came here to be made Oh Holyoke fire makes smoke Don’t let the river drown you dry Winter is the Difference between High St. and San Juan All the red haired children lock their doors when the sun is gone. Is it fear in the river or on convenience store shelves? Americana don’t you want an overpass over yourself Buildings brick, and signs that didn’t mix The 1920’s with the future Like a silent picture show that never learned to talk And walks all day in sepia past Puertorican shops There’s no excuse for it hasn’t happened yet That’ll help her children understand Why the language that rushes past their mother’s tongue at night Is never written in her hand Holyoke thick enough to choke Don’t let the river drown you dry