Lauri Adverb – “veering”

November 16, 2012 at 8:15 am (Lauri Adverb, Poetry & Literature)

To the 1:

I come over drunk, light a cigar in yr bedroom and wait

for you. It’s Friday night, I’m pretty sure we have plans. Like usual.

You get home drunk, you say I’m unexpected. You want me gone. I won’t go.

You smash me to the floor drag me by the hair stop

when you realize

we’re at the edge

of the stairs.

It wasn’t me who called the cops.

Movement (Alone):

Of course it makes no sense

to call you from the ER bed

for a ride home.

Of course you say no.

Of course I can’t call anyone


let them know.

There’s a bar nearby.

I have 4 bucks.

I can walk.

Someone will buy me


I’ll buy a ride


To the Other:

You save me.

See me gulping drinks some guy buying them.

See me veering on the barstool.

You drive me to the diner.

Movement (Towards the Unknown):

Here it’s hazy, I rely on fragments and his memory:

Grilled cheese and french fries.

Diet Coke.

Me: “What’re yr favorite things?”

Him: “The taste of pussy and the smell of gunpowder.”

Walk towards his truck, somehow.

In the parking lot he kisses me.

Opens my door, asks where I live.

Me: “By the high school.”

Him: “Where’s that?”

Me: “I dunno.”

Here I know only what he tells me:

We walk down stairs to his basement apartment where he prepares himself

the couch.

I take off my clothes.

Walk to him.

I guess I sit on his face,

I must’ve,

he tastes me on his mustache 2 days later.

To the 1:

Honey, next morning it isn’t


I awake beside.

Still, strangely comfortable,

naked drinking Corona under cotton sheets

’til we dress for Denny’s.

Honey, he knows everything.

I tell him everything.

He watches as the bruises surface to my skin.

To the Other:

I wait ’til you’re busy w/the guys speaking Spanish fixing yr refrigerator

to take the phone to yr bedroom and call him.

Tell him what you told me:

It isn’t right.

2 dreadlocks gone,

7 bruises.

You make it seem so obvious.

Movement (W/the Other):

A shower, Chinese and Chardonnay, the cinema.

Rioja late at night. I chose it. He uncorks it w/a butter knife. We drink from coffee mugs.

He says he sees he hasta buy a corkscrew, wine glasses.

Asks me if he should buy a toothbrush, too.

To the Other:

When you pee you leave the door open, you’re talking to me as I sit in the next room

Looping in my head is some danger-action ’90′s flick w/Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves.

A bomb on a bus that would explode if it stopped.

They fall in love, of course.

He looks her in the eye, says, “Ya know,

they say relationships that begin in crisis situations don’t last”, it ends.

I’m not listening to you. I say, “You’re doing THAT already?”

To the 1:

I am thinking about you. He doesn’t know anything, really. Not

like he knows about that time you picked me up from jail

after the cops booked me on a public drunken-

ness charge when all I was doing was trying to get a pizza.

You took me for that pizza after.

So he has money. If we’re talkin’ percentages

of wealth, you’ve spent more. I’m trying to make an analogy.

Movement (Alone):

Sunday afternoon after Italian and Cabernet I’m

home. Put leftovers in fridge, head to my bedroom.

I like it here. It’s safe.

Snugger under my blankets sober tired sore.

I lie on my side, one hand under my pillow cupping my head, the other

between my thighs, clutching my curls. I think

I wanna let only me touch me.

Lauri Adverb

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