from russia with(out)love


may 24th 2004
i recall
On a train back from Moscow
 a head of grey and a face of
heartache
starring at me
across the aisle
his eyes were so incriminating
yes incriminating
As if  my palm was held up in my eyes
you sir- as the reader,you sir -as the fortune teller
delivering me with news that
has been haunting me since I was 13

9 hours into our
journey

I put my sweater on
I pull my sweater off
I try to sleep
Instead
I think about everything
how I stupid I must of looked that day
my eyes and my heart were begging you to
love me

the day I cried in a parking lot
then on the street
the day I had 18 cups of coffee
not filled with coffee

the day I got your letter
and my heart forgot to work right

I look out the window and see st petersburg
babushkas with there grandchildren
on there back
held by the hand

Tattooed in my brain are the hands
of people in love
passing by
who are about to:
fall on there faces
and hate the ones
they used to need.


If I could paint this day
it would take 3 brushes
and one tube of off white
mixed in with a little dirt

If I could sing this memory
it would be in d


when we arrived 
2 hours outside of the city

the head of grey spoke
told me my eyes were the saddest things
hes ever drawn

he hands it to me

I  exit the train
& throw it away

my eyes looked like the black sea
anyways
expect more desolate
and less hopeful


I arrive to the blank slate
a flat 12 blocks away

I lay on the ground
notice that
I've been crying far too little these days
at one point did I became so blank?




as if there was a way to depict
our futures


how dare I pretend that I was fine.