Five of Cups

I woke up dreaming of you.
Again. The dog had fallen
out of love with me and your
new roommate blew smoke
into her coffee cup. Somewhere

there is a lock without a key.
There’s too much talk
about the road not taken.
What about the one biked
over, potholed and scarred with

bandaid peels. Sometimes
in pictures we are nothing more
than the caricatures of our
worst features. See how my
nose looks big in every snapshot?

You could read that as a sign of
snobbery. Or allergies. Or a
fist to the face. I never mean
what you think
I mean.


Palm Reading

Image of this card from a random online tarot card thingy.
Words written in Eugene while roadtripping.
Time Taken three minutes?
Brain full of headaches, the way in which people are assholes to each other, the joy of being on the open road again.

This entry was published on June 6, 2012 at 5:18 pm and is filed under June, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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