ouch.

we all use bandaids

she sure was a pretty thing

pass me the vodka

11:30 p.m., again.

I am the darkness

it swallows me instantly

you are not the dawn

maybe I was.

click to listen to maybe I was, read by heather brager.

I thought I'd know your voice

a quality for the radio

back when you fucked girls

you didn’t know in their

dirty upstairs apartments

a few hours before dawn

I wanted to be those girls 

but you know I will never be

do you remember me telling you

we are the sum of all parts

every choice is our brand

the broken glass on my rug

your hands on my ass

or pulling my hair

your car parked down the street

just waiting for me to leave

I often recall your profile

as you quickly turned

a short intake of breath

your eyes were just mine

I thought I could curl up

inside of your chest

as we stood in my kitchen

waiting for the stew to boil

© 7.25.13 heather brager 

lie to me.

click to listen to lie to me, read by heather brager.

how many deceptions 

have I quietly

assimilated?

I have become

the swallower of bitter pills

learning to choke

down a quandary

of murky

illegitimacies

I wash them down

with vodka and gin

and in the end

love is just truth

and nothing more

if only you really knew

how sweet 

purity tastes

© 7.24.13 heather brager 

Published Red Fez 12/13/2013 - click to read 

aftermath.

 

if we lie

in this chrysalis

a quiet shroud

comprised 

the memories

we sifted from

the wreckage

an abstract painting

a solitary man

lost beside 

a red and

spiraling path

a single cellist

maybe, one note

becoming

a forgotten

symphony

 © 7.23.13 heather brager

our words.

you are hands and eyes

Picasso in the bedroom

I am Van Gogh’s ear

© 7.22.13 heather brager

lepidoptera.

you were so tender
and beautiful
when we met


empty and waiting

in the middle of the room
the dusty light bulb
and a moth


now we are
broken metaphors
still waiting for you


© 7.18.13 heather brager

7.17.13

she is made of nails
and will hold your head gently
longing for the moon

throwing it away.

I try not to look
at the photograph
the truck we found in the field
12 miles outside of Livingston
later we discussed giving credit
where credit was due
but you never could open your fist
to hand it to me

we saved that bottle
2700 miles across the country
desperation and loose ends
trailing us in the wind
I was hoping for more than
just to survive
a seedy hotel in Ohio
acrid coffee on the interstate
your broken hand


© 7.16.13 heather brager  

two sides, same coin.

sometimes I am the other side
cold and rigid, familiar
between your fingertips
in your pocket
under your thumb
a clear picture on one side,
turned over on its back

© 7.15.13 heather brager  

the trap.

your eyes confiscate

and I am dissuaded

in my mind, I am escaping to flee

where there is only truth

we do not exist, yet we are pieces of a puzzle

I am and you are

a cancer in our cells

a crow to a window

a wasp to the windshield

as I imagine and draw

the route back to you

I am the wasp, trapped

beneath your rocks glass 

losing oxygen and 

drowning in the pool

© 7.12.13 heather brager