the mrs.

i'd say, what's your favorite song, and you'd say, i don't care, and i'd say, we'll see about that.

i'd put you on my back
and take you to 1990
with the real me

this is where it's worthwhile
you'd borrow my blackberry lipstick
realize it's now a cellular phone device
and we'd
both cringe
at the thought

you say, live in the now

i say,
how do we
erase everything
from here on out?

yes, i did
tell you about
the yellow pills
but it's just not
as satisfying
as this

burning
irises in a
cobalt blur
peeking out
of the thicket
nectar eyes tryst
in all that alabama

this poem is unreasonable
mismatched chopped minced
a casserole without a single fuck

neither of us have "jobs"