She wants to be a hiphop poet
but way too white to do so
and he takes sleeping pills and writes
so it frees up his mind
and sometimes drinks a beer with them
because sometimes he thinks he might want to die
and you and I will never love again
and that's okay with me

And he plays his Walkman as loud as it will go
when he puts his snow-covered foot
on the roving train platform
because he knows if he plays it loud enough
it will leak out his eyes and
blast away everyone on the train
like a laser
a Pixie laser
And she steals cigarettes
when she thinks no one is looking
she mutters to him
I'm drunk
but not too drunk
maybe too drunk
okay I'm too drunk
but I'm not too drunk
and you and I will never love again
and that's okay with me

And he never wanted to be a poet
but an architect
He wanted to be a dried flower
stuck in a black vase
bought for twentyfive dollars
at Urban Outfitters
and stuck in her windowsill
of the little
three cornered
uh, the three paned
the three window thing
in those Chicago apartments
that he can't name
because he's not an architect
he's a poet

And she never wanted to be a porn star
she wanted to be an electrical cord
a long tight taut fifty foot bright red electrical cord
gripped by a sweaty middleaged janitor
at a community college in western Kansas
wrapping it over his open fist
and down to his elbow
and back to his fist
and down to his elbow
wrapped up neatly
and tightly
and thrown in the back of a pickup truck
while the man sneaks off to play poker
And you and I will never love again
and that's okay with me

And he cries in her hair
in his dreams
he bites off her finger
with his teeth
and chews it up
and swallows it
in his dreams

and she is his winter coat
in her dreams
she wraps herself around his thighs
without a belt
cause who wears belts with coats anymore?
And he never meant to be a poet
and she never meant to be a poet
and you and I will never love again
and really, really,

That's okay with me.

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