You wouldn’t know, would you? About the slim man
You talk with at midnight-well, I know him. His name
Is Louis and once upon a time,
I watched him from my sixth floor apartment.
His name is Louis.
His name is Louis.
****, his name is Louis.

Avery        sat  across   the room in two classes
Of mine-starky, lean, and well       philosophical.
His brown eyes only scanned me         I was
Nothing     to him.
He always stormed in      just in time  
I’d think     he must be absent    today
But no       there he’d come,  tall    white    and well,
Alluring.
His bags all over the floor     how could he make
Mess look so       classy        so           elegant
****. He
Spoke with such   top-notch   diction   and
His voice-straight, methodical, structured
But perhaps the enchantment came from
His cedar-like after-smell    like Jewish markets
In the City. That rich, well-educated, cocky      smell.
Avery sat across the room, and read his writing

I read mine to him,    but
I was nothing
To him.

Living      Room

Here   we die    every day

If I tell you how much I weigh,  
the weight of my mind
the mass   of my body    and the burden
of my histories
or make you see    instead  
the weight of yours  
what will become of our children?
Will they  hold   all the things we hate
about ourselves most  
or will they be    sacred  

as all children
should be?

When I can  not direct my body to release
appropriately   I resort to dreams of a handsome
boy, a ******* addict at a motel whose sole purpose
is to please me    and somewhere in the narrative he
falls deeply in love with my zestful spirit,
and so, I embrace him   and I rub against him,
but somewhere here, the whole thing becomes
quite maternal
and I cannot recognize him as the
****** object of my desires
  
that is when I begin to write of him,
the texture of his skin, the ice in his eyes, the veins on his neck,
the girth of his manhood as he
lowers himself unto me and looks at me
desperately as if I am the goddess
that will give him all the riches of earth.

Panamanian myth woman-was it true?
They left you hanging there just for the view?
And you kissed an imp for the sake of emotion,
But, he cursed you instead with his peoples’ potions,
Built you a rose-bed with a hole so you’d fall through?

Panamanian myth woman-tell me things as you recall,
Did he sing you to sleep and turn you into a doll?
Were you bleeding strong when they bit you to bits?
Did you ever suspect his love was counterfeit,
Or did your faith die with their psalms and alcohol?

Panamanian myth woman-from where did you rise?
They said from the West, where a cat gave you its eyes,
And when the men first pinched your cheeks,
You scratched and gave the sharpest shriek,
So loud, even the moon was traumatized.

Panamanian myth woman-did it hurt?
Their hands yanking at the seams of your skirt?
The way they fooled you was as old as mankind,
A simple trick of the heart and mind,
In the end, you crawled for hours in the dirt.

Panamanian myth woman-what did you take?
For you left the land barren and full of snakes.
And all their men still curse your story,
Of how they maimed your status and glory,
Your body, suspended at their village gate.

Panamanian myth woman-is that true?
They left you hanging there just for the view?
But others say you flew on West,
And became the muse for a hero’s quest,
And he built you a tower nothing could break through.

I was walking up  and you were
Coming down    from Snake hill  on a late
Saturday  night  and all I kept wondering was
How   could   i get you   to touch me