the battle cry for
creative violence is:

"Diversify the wounds!"

When I let myself love you
I grow to hate myself
I worry about your comfort
While my neck is strained and
You bite me too hard

How can I forget that I am precious?

I found a **** coffee mug
It tickles my lips when I drink
I love to fill it with cold water
And drive fast on the highway
On a sunny day

Now, I sit here tanning far away
Listening to **** voices on the stereo
With a beer and a smoke and
I wonder why you haven’t called

see a light at the end of the road
I sit in the dark
nowhere to go

try to sleep
never want to wake up

wish I could stop my mind from thinking
in my dream, can't escape my feelings

I want to laugh
but I don't know how
when I'm alone, you can't see me frown

I see no beauty, but I know you do
if I had my way
I'd never move

you try to reach me, but I don't even care
we pretend that I'm real, but I'm not really there

turn my face away
block out my eyes
and my sighs
guilt will not interfere
with your pleasure
let my anonymous skin be
the receptacle for your fantasy
you can call me your little “blank”
you tell me you love me but
i will writhe under your tender cruelty
and we will never acknowledge
that i am facing the wall
and not your tears

I have to shut my eyes
When I make love to you

Sometimes,
You are so infantile
That I recoil from your touch

You are soft and hairless
Fair and smooth
When you whimper in my arms
I cringe

The other day I tried to imagine him in my space

My stomach seized and my face flushed
when I pictured him sitting on the furniture  
His actions are indelicate and dangerous

he is leaving traces  

I am overwhelmed by his oafishness
even in my own mind

He throws his mass around destructively
like a large, clumsy animal
  
The smell of his body
is overpowering in my small space  
His breathe makes my nostrils shut
when I try to inhale

I remember the night
that he returned from the buffet table
with food piled in a single column
from a hand held at his belt right up to his chin
  
It was cheese cubes, crackers and grapes
and he danced back to our table
with out dropping a thing  

He sat down next to me,
smacking his lips and drooling
  
I thought that I would puke
when he offered me a grape
from his cheesy fist.

wearing hoods
(like a cloak)
to hide our faces
we would be mothers slink
into hospitals for
discreet procedures

we size each other up
wonder who did
what? who was
careless? who was
unlucky?

who is
being selfish
right now?  

we watch tv
eyes darting to check
out the new arrival

in the room with
the nurses i get my drugs
i am confused when the doctor arrives
my legs are secure in stirrups
but my head slides
she chooses now
to ask me how it happened
(don’t doctors know?)

she lectures me
about birth control
tells me she doesn’t ever
want to see me
in here again
like the guy
at the seven eleven
when i stole
a chocolate bar at age twelve




there is prodding and suction
but i’m too high to care
a nurse tells a story
about a friend  
with a bad flu
and there is the hum
of the little vacuum

i try to tell them
about my friend
who chugged Buckleys
cough syrup to catch her breath
in basketball
but they ignore me or
maybe i’m so high
that i don’t realize that
i’m not talking anyways
it’s too bad
it’s a funny story

they wheel me into a room
where i sit with other women
in loungers letting
the drugs wear off

we bleed
through our gowns
get paraded to
the bathroom to change
archaic belted pads

blood stains our robes
for everyone to see
every girl’s worst nightmare

my wedding ring is
too big I wonder
what the exact angle and speed
is that my hand
would have to fling
in order for it to slip off

like in physics
all the empty space
between electrons and nucleus
if you bounced a ball
against a wall
and all the atoms lined
up just right the ball
would pass right through

what color would the ball be?

or perhaps I will forget
to take it off
one day when I go swimming
the water will act as a lubricant
it will just slip right off

Perhaps I’m keeping it big
to show what a little girl
I am  
not a round curvy woman
but thin and melting,
a being ebbing down to fit
within the circle of the ring  

I spin it around
on my finger looking
through the gap between
the arc of gold and my finger  

I push it into the flesh
to see how high above
my finger it can rise  
I’m not sure what the space
that I am creating is
supposed to measure

There was a feeling at the back of my throat
that I just couldn’t swallow
  
I lived with it
the way that I live with a song
that gets stuck in my head  

Then it began to migrate
to my eyes
to my stomach
to my knees

I could taste it

every time I tried to breathe
my chest would shake  
My throat vibrating staccatos
as I exhaled

I needed somewhere to lay my head
until I could choke it down
or cough it out.    

The feeling was a little rubber ball             
It had no color           
It had no name  

It bounced around in my head,
much more dangerous than a song             
This rubber ball was mine
and it might never fade  

If I couldn’t sing it out
or give it to someone else  
I’d be stuck with my rubber ball
until they take it away

When no one is looking
I throw my rubber ball
I smash it on the rough concrete
outside in the street

Sometimes
I aim it at the bare light bulb
high on the ceiling.  
My rubber ball is bruised
and scratched
and burned.  

This rubber ball that is mine
doesn’t count.  I don’t want it.  

They will take it away with
the feeling at the back of my throat
that I’m not big enough to swallow

my love
would you be
bothered if I
told you
that I blame you
for breathing

I lie awake
listening to the air
scraping your throat
as you sleep

I need to escape
your oppressive body
heat rhythmic breathing

your parasitic hugs
absorb me
steal my breath

the gooey dough
softness of your body
bleeds out
past its boundary

I fall asleep with my pen
And wake up with ink kisses
You steal my tattoos
To explain away your pain
what a clever trick - You ****!
You can’t take away what’s mine
My bruises will never fill your empty spaces

side by side we lay
my arm thrown softly across your chest
our hipbones connecting

we are light and vulnerable
we are small and fragile

the mattress presses against our backs
it supports us in this moment
that plunges us deeper down

we catch our breath and freeze
drawing out time that is measured
by your watch with missing numerals

i remember the day that i noticed
that you were thin beneath your clothes
and silently you handed me a cigarette

use my lips, chin
as your head rest
please
don’t strain your neck

my lips smash
against my teeth
from your crushing
lazy kisses

our teeth grind to
the rhythm
of your pelvis

i am distracted
by your nose
pressing
my nostrils shut

i waste energy
breathing
wanting
space
to crave you

i choke
on these words

i choke
on your tongue

my brain is pulsing
my mind tries to escape my skull  
an empty head pounding toxic waste
i remember nothing before the pain
and wonder if there exists an after  

my other me is busy curling up
on the cold tile bathroom floor
while i lie in bed struggling with the pain  
we both know for sure
that somewhere out there i must be happy

we lie in the tub convinced
that if i can just get the water hot enough
to burn away my flesh and
make my muscles forget
i will be cured  

my taps are cursed
and the water pressure is never enough
to force it all back where it came from  
eventually, i will be purged

Howling eyes
feeding poison to my body  
it rests and swells
along with my brain
while I imagine
all the things that I am and will be  

Scrubbed clean,
my skin cracks and aches
I can fantasize about
putting one foot in front of the other
but I am toxic and
my arms are too large for me to lift
I shrink as I stretch and
then I can look and
then I can be touched

Soon my heart begins to pound
and my cheeks are flushed
I can smile and believe that
I deserve to be fed

i
my father’s smell
has taken over
our house
a sour layer
pressing
into my nostrils
when I open the door

I don’t live here
anymore
now
I’m gone
he sleeps in my bed
to be close to my mother
     well    closer     than
the basement guest room
anyway
when she leaves
he crawls
into the bed that used to be theirs
and sleeps
on her side

I came by
early one morning
to pick up the last of my things
and saw him sleeping there
hugging her
pillow

I felt sorry for him
sleeping there
like that
my mother
never liked
his smell
  
she would be so mad
   if she knew




she
       tried
                so
                     hard
to clean away the smell
from their sheets
         their mattress



ii
I have a sister
we were born
a     year     a    part
when
she was little
she explained her birth
told people
I moved out and
she moved in

when
we were little
we would crawl
in bed with mom
when
dad was out
of town we would talk
and giggle
we would watch movies
and eat
in their bed

                              the three of us would be crowded
                                                      ove­r as much as possible
                                                      to­ my mother’s side
screaming and laughing if
some       one       strayed
on dad’s sour side







ii
now,
my mother sits
in my kitchen smoking
cigarettes (checking first
because I don’t smoke)
she’s telling me
about her
new apartment
she’s very excited about
having her own space
            her own things
her own smell

apartments never smell
exclusively of
the present occupant
                                                        ­    
she knows this
she means
she will be able to stop
cleaning away my dad

her new place
doesn’t have
a dishwasher or
a balcony or
underground parking
she really wanted a balcony
so she could send people outside
to smoke

                                                          ­she’s going to quit
smoking before she moves

I nod and wonder
who these people are
that she will be entertaining
then I laugh and
say that I wanted
an apartment with
a bedroom
but
we take what
we can get


iv
my dad has
a new apartment
he lives with
the cats that used to be ours

I choke
in his space  
(hold my breath) when
he hugs me
his smell has devoured
all the others
left
in this apartment
it frightens me

my mother’s apartment smells
like cleaning products
       cigarette smoke
       perfume

my father’s apartment smells
like
despair
he doesn’t want
to clean it
away

Scrubbing the hardwoods, softly
on hands and knees

Not as gently as you would a child's face
closer to how you would scrub your own
to free it of grit: efficient, mechanical

The pine floors were laid one hundred and seventeen years ago
refinished until they are barely thicker than paper
the gaps are wide enough in spots to accept the length of my pinky
where the filling has loosened and been swept away
during our tenure

So I know to scrub softly
because I have been stabbed by the shards
that will break off and bite
getting lodged so deep in a hand or the meat of a foot
that a second person is needed to pull it out

These are not on the scale of shards, but stakes, I guess
that you could drive through the heart of tiny vampires
if those were the things in the world that
we needed to fear

This is what I think as I crawl down the hall
between my office and my daughter's bedroom, careful
to scrub away all of the dirt but not so hard
that I lift any of the watery drips of paint from when she trudges
to the bathroom to change out her brush water

They look like fallen tears
if tears had colour and didn't disappear when they dried

I leave those be and don't clean them away

I reset the clock and sent you away
at the correct hour you will cry your arrival
to take your place among the elements

We moan and play and push you forward. The future.
We have visions of you, a being already
keeping us safe.  We cover the walls with your image in paint.

I will be your mother
when I see in the mirror the future
that I mean to give you

At night, I think I hear your breath
the echoes of our own. I wake to listen:
You move beyond my ear

I cry, and wrap the blankets tighter around
my naked body shivering
I press my mouth against my lover’s back. The pillow we share

lulls me back into sleep. And I hear you now
faint whispered sighs;
that fade away in the morning.

feel the press-
sure of my lips-
stick

weighing down
my lips and
keeping me
from speaking

the layer of wax
that seals
my lips-
thick

mascara and eyeliner
make me
wide-eyed and bright
dry out my eyes
make them burn
stuck lashes
glued shut

the too round rouge
on my cheeks
gives a blush
not felt
smiles of wax
and layered colour
carefully applied
let me hide

it is not
yet that time
of night when
my make-up
is smeared and shifting
as though it becomes
restless from remaining
frozen in place  

when staring
in the mirror
nothing
will fix the
stumbling drunk
erupting beyond
the glass

oh my beauty,
I say
to my image
in wax,

I cannot see
my reflection
any more