There is a tiny glass jar on my desk.
It is black because it holds black nail
polish inside of it. It is yours.
I wish I too became what was inside of me.
Maybe a violet or an iridescent yellow.
The acoustic is propped up on the bookshelf;
I can see spots where the clear finish was scraped away.
I remember every time I closed my eyes and hit that thing.
My biggest regret is that I’ve never written you a really good love song.
Although I don’t know if I’ve ever really heard one.
In 1581 James Douglass was executed by guillotine. This sounds rather mundane, but James Douglass was the first person to introduce the guillotine to Scotland. He said it was clean and efficient. After they killed him, they left his head there until it turned leathery. This is all to say: I want to die from the thing I spent my life doing. But have words ever killed anyone?
You bought me flowers once and put them in an empty Jack Daniel’s bottle. Do you remember? I never told you, but I think it was the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.
I have this reoccurring dream where
I drop my phone and it smashes into
hundreds of pieces of glass. I panic
because I just want to tell you that I’m okay.
I would drive to Boston right now if I could. I could bring flowers, maybe roses. I would drop my bag on the floor and unbutton my shirt. I don’t know how to love besides doing it. It’s like teaching someone to swallow, in that way.