i knew love once.
it was back before
my first execution,
before the hounds were released
and the hunt was easy for fresh blood.
back when i lay on my floor and
pictured a wild west
and if my mom asked me what i was doing
i’d say “listening to music.”
and she smiled at the simple world
that once spun so slow
an old record could
take up whole nights.
but not now.
not since i opened and closed
and forgot to buy postcards in
Havana and Minneapolis.
and if i promised to let people know
i was still alive
i didn’t remember or worry
because somewhere along the way I realized
no one really cares.
and the girls didn’t need
a prince on a horse
by the time they were ready to kiss
their fathers goodbye.
they just wanted what was there
and if it hadn’t gotten drunk and beaten them yet
it was worth saving.
inventing a history is easier than thinking about
what might have been.
no one needs love anyway
a new show premiers every night at 8.