between headaches

1.
some people never open their eyes to harsh morning glares--she hid from mine. saw her again today, walking a dog, trendy boots, cool-grey sunglasses. feeling dry, brittle. this contempt could sink a battleship without even touching it, could turn cactuses to stone, could stop a raging bull on a dime. this contempt could split the Red Sea, could pen a thousand songs in my name, could fuse the two hemispheres of my brain into one crushing machine. only the true grinding elites know this mellow bitter taste. coconut hollow. I have the gears, but I need to add oil. I have the guts, "but the guts need fuel." desperately thin, I can barely cast a shadow, even in harsh morning glares. she smiles, oblivious, hidden behind grey shades, as I hit the bench like a sack of salt and pick the grit out of my fingernails. words empty. a mouthful of balloons. chewing on pins and needles. I swallowed my pride but couldn't keep it down. vacant stomach. desperately thin, but still, I do not hunger.

2.
a stomach full of piranhas and clay, pigeons play on cobblestones, pecking for crumbs--baking in the sun. white snickers amble slowly, a sculpted mother's tightly curved cheeks and glistening shoulders. a half box of American dreams, a stack of hollow volumes--Russia caught between Britain and Britain. son of a tiger striped cat and a merry song twists his pins across bleached leaves, missing calls, caught between a city and a dream. old gal, neatly groomed, toting France-Amerique,  everybody seems to be caught between something, and something else.