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TONGUE breech
birth RIPPED free
from the first BATTLE
CRY of infancy- a
Mommy's tomb-
you made a poem
of me
the OUTside
of the womb
a perfect crescent
shaped doom
death SQUAD
hair SPRAY
b-way play
YOU make big
deals of your
moral decay
gimme gimme
gimme a ****
YOU are a poet
now go
She enters a room
with a compact stare
sooner rather than
later and if you get
chewed in her moments
or get a leg caught in
the trap of her gaze?
count yourself as lucky
to have not been stomped
on the spot by the click
and clack of her simply
entering a room in long
strides, her legs like a
compass with two sharp
toes marking the dark

No one shares her space
even as she marches head
first into a wall or face
down in your purse

GET IT? not your sort
of thing

She hovers like a florescent
bulb leaving spots in her
wake, purple mostly

She leaves a room ******
of its color, she's a *******
layer cake

She exits, always, in great
haste taking the wind and
leaving NOTHING not even
you, nope

She was perfect when vertical
and even when folded in half
a pretty good sport

She writes her name
on the bottom of one shoe
and her address on the
other just in case
she is ever again

Now, layered in ashes
upright as an umbrella
stand I give her urn a
good shake, y'know
as an old friend

That's how I am
My brain
this cage
this basket
of consciousness
like two hands
holding a bee
fingers letting
in the idea but
not the reality
of flight
one dumb
pried away
from the
I am
I am the untied version
of you, shoe full of nothing
unscrewed and unchewed
a puncture in space and
time meant to hold us
in place where even
a well placed heel
won't do

The rhyme and reason of
a fork with two tines replacing
the precise oneness of
the edge of a knife

Sooner or later we will walk
on four heels, two for each

You can dress me up
but you can't take me

Besides, who will wait
on you?

I cannot occupy two places
at once, the served and the
server, even with a quick
costume change

Order for me, will you?
I am not a sentry
I do not stand with
my hands full of honey
flowing with *** juice
dainty footfalls marching
in place quiet as a panther
smile draped on my face

I practiced winking
in the mirror but I come
off as a psychopath
my come hither look
missing a fork and

What else can I do
while I wait here for
the likes of you?

I believe you want me
still warm, hot even
like a mirage on hot tar
not me but still sort of
me, shut up completely

Like a tomb

I have never been more
decisive, keeping perfectly
still in this tiny room
What she saw, it was better
than any TV, better even than
Marcus Welby and ever since
Quincy ruled that punk rock
music was the cause of death?
You can keep your fancy plots
and all of that mess
she said to the general public
from her window then pulled
her head back in just in time
for a quick breath

The TV stays on from habit
and anyway the sound it makes
even when the volume is off?
she can't explain its comforting
presence or how it feels like
an old friend who doesn't
criticize or ask for anything
ever or like a wife who was told
to shut the hell up long ago
and by some miracle she's
not said a single word since
like that, comforting and
silent and if she were real
instead of the electric air of
the TV set? well, our friend
would swear she's fat

(and also friendly, not a
smudge of malice)

Anyway the woman in the
window has had a lifetime
of that- malice, scorn, as each
year dropped off like a coin
in a purse with a hole


What an awful word

But there are moments
when life comes alive, not
so much in but always

It's like waiting for her
favorite soaps

The TV shows the bloated face
of someone familiar, maybe
Rock Hudson or Doris Day
(she snickers who are they
kidding?) and she has never
met a single person who
came near to being that kind
of happy, she is certain
no one is that happy

Nonetheless she hears some
singing, sticks her head into
the breeze that carried the notes
to her- a skinny black woman
marches back and forth in the
park with an invisible baton
in her hand, belting out O

(yes, we can.)

The woman in the window
claps heartily while the one
in the park takes a bow
WOW she heard me! both
of them think at the very
same time)

The park is full of action
just the other day she saw
one bag of laundry approach
another bag of laundry and
the first bag pulled out a gun
from one of his many pockets
while the second bag produced
what must have been money
and so one bag of laundry
sold a gun to another bag
of... I swear! she says
to Doris Day

And that's how it is any
old day, see? and how
much better it is than
O hell this thing (let's
call it a woman for now)
she walks around to the
bark of his orders, bends
over backward to his
sieg heils and and
Hatred will set you free
and and and if only I could
crawl away on all threes
she says better you than
me with the last bit of him
caught in the jaws of her
snap! snap! snap! having
torn off the hand that fed
her (who cares?) it's a
rap! rap! rap!
See how things change
so quickly, see?
This Greek arriving empty
shaking ******, the Trojan
horse she rides atop, wasn't
it glamorous? demanding
gifts rather than receiving
them except for the vicious
and banging pieces
banging their way
out of her mouth, she
could only SHUT THE
**** UP for so long
and now it's too late
*******, you're my
She misunderstands
she waves her vicious lips
once meant to please you
now spitting out a charm
a spell, a hell bent burnt
mantra and now
The world is wrong
including you (get used
to it)

She tells him in so many words
he only has borrowed minutes
minutes here and at a high rate
of bare and bored interest and
he had better return the unused
portion, dragging it out of a
lion's mouth
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