Urgent Napkin Poets

I bump my toes over your slimy insecurities,
knee deep in history I cannot begin to understand.
All the while you wrap your fingers around my fears,
foreign as they are, grasp them tight, and tug.

Lying is a form
of the Deceit
Disease that ends
up parasitizing
off its host.

this town is a black hole
for relationships,
she said and frowned across
the counter at me.
i asked for some tissue
paper to wrap the pens
i had bought at half price
and we both smiled
at the discount

A woman just walked by dragging
a backpack behind her pretending
it had wheels and wasn't
getting scuffed to its last threads
on the cement. I watched
and waited for its contents to spill
out at the first contact with a dip
in the sidewalk.

The rain came
down like a waterfall
from the top of the escalator
coming out of the Metro
station near my apartment.
Being underground is timeless
and consistent. The temperature stays
relatively the same
and it never rains.
The thunder sometimes feels
like it originates
from the earth
and shakes anyone
standing on her to their most basic
elemental self.
That has to be my favorite place -
the ground level of myself,
the cosmic lobby of my character
where everything meets to check out,
where I meet myself.

I drank cold coffee like
it was iced tea
outside
a Starbucks off Dupont Circle
writing on this tablet
some tiny sparrow
begged for scraps
as a clown car
rolled to a stop at the light.
Two black men tapped
a time clock as they moved
pawns on a checkered board
and pushed up their sunglasses
under the shade of a green
umbrella.

wearing sweaters in this heat
and lace table cloth dresses
tilting forward up the escalator
they pass me on the left shopping
bags poke my calves
unshaven for a week and prickly
i threw away my cute shoes
due to quarter sized blisters
it will be sunday in 25 minutes
two blocks east of here

i slid off your shoulder like a heavy tablecloth
like you cleaned all the plates and there was nothing
left to talk about over dinner. 
i wonder if you'll gather with me on the floor,
tired and finished yet holding there
expecting to be picked up.