Chris & Gwenyth

And they will hold it together
through strings of internet thread
and keep a front of solidarity
in bold font, print headline
but
behind folded shades and crumpled sheets
she will curl into a ball of hurt and
he will lie on a cold floor
each trying to feel the getaway
and past-it resignation,
the hope that one day
they will feel warm in bare skin
pushed up against loss.

Joy tripping

Just when the hope of little drops a little closer to none
that's when I do it: yank out credit cards and madly click
until, for some befuddled reason, I have booked a room
in a different city
away from here
with hardly a clue
of what to do
when I get there.

This is the way I like to tell myself that hells yes I can
and that fuck no I don't belong to anyone, no one's shove around
pet that obeys and listens to reason because those days are over
and yes I'll wander
and yes I'll get lost
and yes I'll eat a damn
cheeseburger and lick my goddamn fingers.

I will take out my camera phone and capture the most banal of buildings,
the most unworthy of picturesque touristy unpicturesqueness
and post it proudly on Facebook for all to see that THERE! I did it and went
and came back
a little broke but
proud of the miles
and the thoughts
running through
a lonely tourist's head when they turn and realize that the person they want to say LOOK! to
isn't there.