My reflection in the window sees
me rocking back and forth
no corners or arms that feel like home
except mine
sickening comfort of isolation
worn wooden closet doors of the mind
clasped into lock by the metal eye hook
if a single tear escapes, it may carry my sanity
to be evaporated into the atmosphere
mist too fine to collect in a drinking glass
I hurry too much with my voice
stomach churns to create numb butter
so I rock, to make it think we are on water
being carried back to the place where
I feel magical again
don’t look at me until I do
because I cannot believe that you think I am beautiful

In one of those uncertain places
with the sunlight holding me in her arms
I drifted, wandering, looking for me
without him

Remembering my father’s
visit on the ceiling of my room
to tell me that my philosophies are true
the weight of his spirit lifted my lungs

To inhale, and more importantly
exhale
to let it go
oppression, fear and timidity go

Drifting, more drifting
the sun nudged my eyes open
to receive this gift she offered me
suspended in air, transforming all things

Sweeping in from the east
wings open wide, effortless sailing
towards my skyscraper window
we stilled the dust, stilled the blinking

As her shadow passed over and
her eyes flew into-becoming my soul
this is how it feels when your
totem animal is revealed

and your spirit is outside of your body
touching and not touching the ground
each step you take guided by her,
a white cane for your sightless eyes

houses so close you can’t have sunlight without voyeurism
but how can one resist this air of night’s invigoration
her thick ankles can be seen through the lifted shade
next to the beer and rumpled magazines on her coffee table
it is 7:30, the kids are in bed, the husband, who knows?
it’s pull-tab night at the corner bar,
he likes that young girl who sells them
flicker, it feels good to sit down
how ironic that my long awaited silence feels so lonely
flicker, maybe if i bought that he would look at me again
flicker, do i even care anymore?
*** is more work than it’s worth sometimes
flicker, Jacque and Lisa keep me company, maybe
i DO want the deluxe faux ruby necklace and earing set
flicker, i wanted to be a ballerina when i was little
my god this house has awfully low ceilings
flicker, all this thinking is making me tired

some of the “greats” are walking among us
making eye contact upon our sidewalks
sharing sweaty seats on our buses
eating tempeh and salad at our cafés
lying next to us, sleeping, in our beds
we shop at their record stores
throw dollars in their guitar cases
curse their driving on our freeways
art and history are presently in motion
the past is just the place where we idealize them

a malt liquor brain bath to deaden the nerves
his entire body is encased in a crusty scab
hard enough that he can’t feel your smile
…much, but then…
he tries, scared eyes breaking contact
his stories are wrapped in laughter bandages
because it’s funny that the nuns
would humiliate him in school
and that his brother killed himself
by jumping off a bridge in St Paul
doesn’t every kid dream of having a bi-polar mother?
that was the brother he could talk to by the way
the other kids, well, just as mean as the nuns
a funny story alright. tragic comedy of
a sensitive soul with a pillow over its face
until it was smothered almost dead
arms flailing in desperation, muffled cries
“there is new skin beneath this scab!”
**** it.
pour some beer on this thing until it drowns

diaphanous tremors
when my nakedness is not enough
to portray how bare i lay before you
create a signature in the corner of our art
engendered by the voices of our bodies
which sing liquid harmonies for 
the completeness in our honesty

comfort comes in many forms
scented soft garments against my skin
recollections of your kissses
your eyes, and kind words
audacious pronouncements of Lord Henry
mystic deliria of containing multitudes
melatonin and gilmore girls dvds
at last, sleep crawls into my bed
"i was waiting for you to finish your poem"
she says