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The following can also be found in the book Chicago Stories 1998. Click here to learn more, and to download a free electronic copy.
She wants to be a hiphop poet
but way too white to do so
and he takes sleeping pills when he writes
because he thinks it frees up his mind
and sometimes drinks a beer with them
because sometimes he thinks he might want to die
and you and I will never love again
and that's okay with me
And he plays his Walkman as loud as it will go
when he puts his snow-covered foot
on the roving train platform
he believes if he plays it loud enough
it will shoot out his eyes and
blast everyone away
like a laser
a Pixie laser
And she steals cigarettes
when she thinks no one is looking
she mutters to him
I'm drunk
but not too drunk
maybe too drunk
okay I'm too drunk
but I'm not too drunk
and you and I will never love again
and that's okay with me
And he never wanted to be a poet
but an architect
He wanted to be a dried flower
stuck in a black vase
bought for twentyfive dollars
at Urban Outfitters
and stuck in her windowsill
of the little
three cornered
uh, the three paned
the three window thing
in those Chicago apartments
that he can't name
because he's not an architect
he's a poet
And she never wanted to be a porn star
but an electrical cord
a long tight taut fifty foot bright red electrical cord
gripped by a sweaty middleaged janitor
at a community college in western Kansas
wrapping it over his fist
and down to his elbow
and back to his fist
and down to his elbow
and thrown in the back of a pickup truck
while the man sneaks off to play poker
And you and I will never love again
and that's okay with me
And he cries in her hair
in his dreams
he bites off her finger
chews it up
swallows it
in his dreams
and she is his winter coat
in her dreams
she wraps herself around his thighs
without a belt
cause who wears belts with coats anymore?
And he never meant to be a poet
and she never meant to be a poet
and you and I will never love again
and really, really,
That's okay with me.