Brittany Murphy

…was, an enigma, or at least
something of one, to me,
a beauty, that I’d be tickled by
and spend an actress-obsessing afternoon over,
but never really come to terms with,
never really see in a full light.
Her choices of roles always felt under her potential,
as did her choices in men, but
in a good way;
he was the kind of husband
that gave you the confidence
that you could get with a girl like
Brittany Murphy,
and those were the kind of movies
that one would have no reason NOT
to be proud of.
But she’s dead, gone for infinity,
I guess such ideals
remain out of reach,
only to be enjoyed in
passing


Notes: Actress Brittany Murphy passed away Sunday at the age of 32...this was written as a quick-fix coping mechanism, I suppose. I was listening to some random Dead Milkmen song called "Two Feet Off the Ground" (which I had never heard before) and it struck a nerve, and then I started writing.

She Will Always Love You

She will always love you.

And every day you will walk on knots of snow
as hard and unfortunate as knuckles
and the blistering cold will snake up your sleeves
and the sleep you didn’t clear from your eyes
will freeze

And you will push into your apartment from the cold
and the dusky yellow light from the naked bulb overhead
will settle on your shoulders
and something else:

:Your bed, as big as a desert, will yawn at your arrival

You think of those investigative reports
where they wave a black light over a hotel room
and you wonder what if memories fluoresced

You listen to the radio
you stay away from the windows
and you breathe more quickly
despite yourself

Then you are out in the cold again,
and you will hum old songs,
and the sun, promising warmth and giving none,
will stay in front of you,
and the snow will ball in the arches of your feet,
and you will not be still

Until you forget,

she will always love you.

(Untitled)

He wandered around the night streets
Of his mind, thinking they were Toronto, again,
He would say,
“I want to pretend I know, but I don’t know when I pretend!”
Always signing his letters
‘Talk to me later’
And ‘In love, with love,'
The women were his streetlights,
Shining so brightly but always out of reach,
So much dark…
He just wanted a real star to shine
In the night for once,
Even further-even
Genuine,
And not just the stuff
Of tantalizing dreams,
But alas, t’was his mind unjust,
And his eyes couldn’t see back in.
And like his father,
“There’s dreams in this drink, so give me some more.”