green locker
a new violin
barely fits


grass on knees sun too bright laugh


rush hour
crossing the street
she spills her coffee


discovery of a pond
she killed a frog
that fast

moving day—
children pick
at the curbside

she says turn down your music like

oh ****, let's just

twist the volume from

here to here

and everything's gonna be all right. like

those big-toothed snakes we used to dream of gonna

creep to her bedroom when they hear this

beautiful thunder in my window.

like if i turn my guitar to a whisper of static everything's

gonna disappear

in a puff of smoke and

—heavy hands be gone—

we can all breathe through this

tepid air

without something else to wrap around

and through every shivering

f

       r

     a

          c

              t

    u        

    r

       e.



because that's never going to work on me

again.

you want to pretend that

these red-ink scratches are your kisses,

pressed into paper with your sweet perfume,

sealed with a wish.

— dearly beloved —

you used to call me something sweet,

falling like summer rain, and

pink glass buttons and butterfly wishes

and dreams could come true.



but rain falls to mud and letters are

trampled in the gutter, trash

my words, trash

you knew you'd be heard behind your whisky veil;

artillery doors don't hide secrets.

when the glass broke harlot-red lipstick

stained the rim, whisky ran through wax

and her skirts flew with her to the back room

to meet with her next little boy.

god, you were such a fool for  

breathy promises and clever fingers slipping through silk.

god, I was so stupid for you.



and now

you want to pretend your kisses are mine

that you can scratch x's in a row

to make me smile.

and I could scream and cuss and carve you a letter with knives

or I could turn a blinded eye

and cry.

I am a thing of many heartbeats

many walls, many minds.

and some men mark out the ways

ten by ten

by twenty-five

that I can be laid out on a plate

losing count at organelles and

organelles in the tight dry skins of

the mothership organelles.

I’m not in these pages, dearest,

flattened, candied red and blue.

but still you reach, tweeze apart bones

for tiny minds, for glowing truth in lives

crushed flat on a slide of glass

trickle acid on my cuts just to burn me more

and dearest

I thought you said you loved me before.

Bones



I can

unscrew my arms

from their sockets in

my shoulders, scratch

long lines in the mud with the

splintering ends. Pry apart

radius & ulna and let fingers

dance across my lap.

Twist ribs together, explore

the smooth inside of my

eye sockets.

I'll laugh at your fear

with the music of 32 teeth.



2. Flesh



With this knife, carve

the muscle from my calf;

peel a scarlet & stinging & twisting

ribbon from curving neck.

Blood runs a river,

scooping my stomach out,

a cave for children

to dance in.

I'll turn  from

the way you cry at me,

& you can see

my gloriously stinging smile.



3. Blood



Sharp fingers gouge,

scrabbling at pulsing veins,

peeling off a spidery

net of dripping blood

and sinewy strings.

Pull them tighter

around my throat,

bursting to fireworks

in my eyes. Rip the threads, release

an avalanche of bitter &

slippery red.

I'll win at your game

with paint of victorious red

still wet upon my cheeks.

She described herself as a raven

laughing at the world in that

quiet way.



I miss her voice

and echoes aren't bread enough to fill me.

wisps of hair & you &
                                       your eyes, I just can't
think with you around. you call me
something ---------------- tied around a rock,
it has an E an S an L L L L  ---
                                       I just can't
talk|think|breathe|swear to god you're

intoxicating.