I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

A digitalized **** has been put in a toaster
Transported through pipes
Send off as holy grail bananas incorporated
Stamped 70 cents
Whipped out the door as hot air
The receiver the receiver guess who
300 watts or more
Kb's amplified to Z
The clerk awaits it with both hands
But that's just **** guessing
Or **** gassing if you like
'You like the smell?' will be a statement made with Royal grace
Pancakes will be served too
& by the way
Who said Bob Dylan was a country singer?

She could never quite understand the way he looked at her. He was always so curiously gentle, and his smile was so soft. Yet there was such glitter in his eyes, and an unrelenting sort of hate came out of his words, a strange, profound, impersonal hate. Personally he liked her, she was sure. He was gentle with her, attracted by her in some strange, soft, passionless way. But impersonally he hated her with a mystic hatred.

When you break my heart.
If you break my heart.

Please do it kindly.

Wrap it gently in something soft. Something soft like your sweater. And give my heart back to me.

I’ll let you keep a few pieces. Because they’re yours, and I won’t ask what you will do with them.

But break me quickly, simply, honestly.
Break me so I won’t shatter like glass. So that even when I no longer love you. I will love you for at least doing me this.

If you can’t promise me a forever. I won’t hold it against you. Time is not always kind, and I can’t expect it to be on our side.
But promise me you will try. Try to be on my side. Just on this.

So that I know, that even if this is no longer the case,
Once-upon-a-time ago, you really did love me.