Here is a smutty little poem and a crappy thing I wrote because I couldn't stop thinking about it, and writing it makes it go away! The crappy thing is first.

[p.s. in case you hadn't noticed, my aunt totally read and commented on the entry right before this one, where I talk about some guy splooging on my belly and falling face-first into it. I know that's to be expected when writing so much disgusting slop on the world wide web, but still...pretty funny. I guess I won't be running for office after all]

a good picture

today i drove home
down sunset boulevard
sat at a red light
and watched a man as he walked

he had dark clothes on
shabby but clean
he shuffled past the church
in one hand
he carried
an american flag
in the other
a broom
and a dustpan

i wished i had a camera
it seemed like it might be
a good picture

Lather

I almost called you today
to tell you

There's this bottle
in the shower
almost empty
upside down.
The tiny bit of soap inside
is purple and perfumed.
It's the one you used to like,
remember?
Smells like oranges
and bubble gum.

I keep saving this bottle
in case I ever
see you again
(sometimes
I think I might
and I'd like to smell good
if I do).

I should just replace it.
Problem is
(you know me)
I can't throw anything away,
not even some mostly spent bottle
of sentimental bullshit,
not while there's something left
(even just
one
good
final
squeeze
that's here
and waiting
for you).

I almost called
to say these things
and then
I tossed the fucking bottle in the trash.