i think somebody is nibbling on my brain
and throwing ******* in my front yard

i think that it's a he
and he is 70 years old
and he forgot his wife's name

my name is Edith
and i think my old man needs help

i can help you find your ghost

the one that opens up the doors to your porch
and lets your cat out
when you swore you locked up

the one that crawls into bed with you
and you can't decide if it's warm or cold

the one that turns up the stove burner
so that your eggs aren't sunny-side up
like you wanted
but so that they are fried

(and you actually like it)

my name is Edith
and his is Eden
isn't that
sweet

sometimes
i light a cigarette
and i let it burn like incense
and i hear you exhale
and chuckle (but probably not at something i said)
and i see your shadows dancing with the smoke

and i wonder
why my gravity
doesn't keep you here

curtsies and torn *****-hose
i am the the tiny pieces of dust you inhale
how does somebody tear my *****-hose for me
if i have already done it myself?

i am an apple caramel sucker
that only the boys with long fingers
and impatient minds choose

i am a black widow
who sneaks around your house
just to hear what kind of noises you make in the mornings

i am the piece of gum on Adam's shoe
that he tried to scrub off
but couldn't

i am every piece of confetti you forgot to pick up

one day
my daydreaming helpmate
skipped hopped and jumped -
and made his way
all through the realms of my brain-what-have-yous
and most inevitably my ditzy-doos-  
sprinkling pockets of lust along my floor
and making me follow behind him with a broom.

sometimes I'm running around in a field I have never seen before
and my body hurts like mashed potatoes
So I sit down
and the ground underneath me crumbles
and I fall down until the everything is orange and
my brain is on backwards
Then I look down at myself
and I have no belly button and no fingertips
and,
in fact, -
I'm in a thousand tiny little pieces on the ground

and I can't even put myself back together

i suppose, it's a start to admit

that i'm in love with a man who always finishes his joints

and who sends me twirling into the air with his trails of smoke

a man who works me as if i'm the keys of a piano

and plays the softest, most beauitful song

It would be a lie to say the love i hold

is a strong piece of twine,

unbreakable through the bonds of admiration and desire

rather, it's a flimsy envelope

with tatters and tears

and scratched out names

and sometimes,

he ashes on it

You cover me in purple
Your ins and outs, your ups and downs,
Your overs and what-have-yous
The sickle sound of your heart pounding in the morning to
Your fiery rushed breath during the times when
I don’t even know whose leg is whose
Your purple canopy envelopes me when I don’t know where to go
and it tells me to just stay there
it’s vastness chews on me as if I’m a sweet gumdrop and i don’t even care
Purple flashes when you do a little whisper
And when you do a little strumming on your guitar
And when you’re even a little proud of yourself
Drawn into the deep delicious well of your purple,
of your ins and outs,
I fall
and fall
and fall……..

One day I shall find the man who hop scotches in my dreams
And we will be able to talk for hours about my long toes and crooked smile
And how bad his breath smells in the morning
He’ll ask me questions like which arm I like scratched the most
but at the same time
Our silence will layer the room in shades of green and brown
When he walks away, my shadow will follow him like a playful kitten
He will know just where to lay his hands, like I’m the keys of a piano
And he will play just the song I want to hear
I’ll know when I find him because he’ll ask me to come play hopscotch with him
too

when life gets mad at me, I kiss him on the cheek
and tell him how beautiful he is when he smiles
I tell him sometimes he needs to count down from 10
because anxiety gets all of us,
he’s nothing special
I read him stories, and recite him Grilfindol and Alphrondage
and  I tell him everything my mom told me
and some of what my dad told me
sometimes he hides
and I have to run after him until my legs are jelly
he never stays mad for long

i want you to take an honest juicy bite out of me
and taste me like the dry grass tastes the first drop of rain
take a breath and find your own way around my body
just to show me that you can
put a flower in my hair and then tell me I look prettier without it
but don’t tell me I look pretty at all
and never stop telling me
show yourself at night and howl to me like the moon
and feed on me
not because you need to
but because you like the taste

If I could talk to earth
I would buy her a drink, and woo her in a stream where just maybe
she’d open up to me the chambers of her house
and let me take a look around
I would chase her through the jungle-wood and spanish moss
And I’d even let her chase me back
Maybe most importantly of all I would tell her I’m sorry under one of her honest apple trees
Because I didn’t mean for her to get sick
I’d lure her with me,
skipping
with my tickled mind and pocket of questions
And we could go ride a wave,
somewhere good