"Do I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself. I am vast. I contain multitudes." -Walt Whitman

:malicious user:

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

a spanish town with a french name
no lights on in the room
the sounds from outside spelled fight or perhaps revelry
a shattering bottle, a woman's laughter


sipping tequila from a plastic cup
'though he'd sworn off drink long ago
it all reminded him of her:
the laughter, the drink,
the broken promise

outside more explosions of laughter and glass
someone breaking hearts and bottles

like isabella

moving to the naked window,
the dress blossoming, the dark hair dancing,
and of course it was not her
it couldn't be

it could never be

drinking tequila from the plastic cup
sweating it out into the heavy night

by the time it had grown quiet outside it didn't matter -
the roaring in his head blended with the roaring of the train behind the motel
as it shook the empty cup from the nightstand
like she used to shake the bed
like she used to shake his beliefs
like she used to shake
when she stopped cold

drinking tequila from the bottle
and waiting for the next train through
waiting outside
waiting to be with her
waiting on the tracks
drinking tequila from the bottle

waking between night and dawn
between the empty bottle and the empty tracks
missing her
and having missed her again

he faced the day with eyes dry as dust
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i used to be disgusted. now i try to be amused.
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