there's a man inside of me
that forgets he isn't a girl
he cusses when he
wants the touch
and not the blow

he writes letters
to invisible people
in disappearing ink

here but not here
there but not there
you are going through something
like the atmosphere

i dress him up sometimes
in sunless tanners and jangling bracelets
i pierced his ears, not to hide him, not to doctor him up
but to make him more audible
because if he is going to keep on talking
he might as well be understood

there are problems
he probably likes the sweatstains
more than the bathrobes
(but no one else likes either one)
he is too concerned, but he cusses through it
as if no one will ever be on to him

i talk in his voice sometimes
just because it sticks around
sort of like how you can't shower off
the smell of last nights *****
come morning

not that i drink very often
but i talk just like him
i stink just like him
according to those
who are long ago and far away
and remembered as if they were ever close
because my other voice
just sounds fat and lazy and useless