1569

The Clock strikes one that just struck two—
Some schism in the Sum—
A Vagabond for Genesis
Has wrecked the Pendulum—

Laugh shriek quake
scream 4,000 miles
into your pillow
no worries dear no
one can hear you
here and anyway
grief makes a funnel
of itself and like an
abscess the entrance
is but a dot of ache
(like a smack that
doesn't really hurt)
that grows wider
into a deafening
wail you can empty
yourself here, just
keep digging until

Someone in China
drops dead ftom your
pain

Come to think of it,
I've strung a string of selfish lovers,
since the first lover to covet my heart.

Enter the present,
I'm of the morose understanding,
the cutthroat waters of the waking world. . .

Temper the mind to take,
raze, and ****.
Take
        Take
                Take

Temper the heart to quake.
Quake
           Quake
                      Quake

at the fulfillment
of practical demand.

Quake
           Quake
                      Quake

on bended knee,
in dream,

for love for free.

You would think
that once my words
are untangled from
the beating of my
thin flesh there
would be some
relief,
like a lightening bug
finally freed from two
clasped hands
no
it doesn't happen
like this
and, besides, how often
does that bug cease to
light up, even after
a controlled
captivity?
No common
housefly (me)
I seek to light up
even in your
absence
(see?)

It's not sadness it's not loss
or rejection or pain it's not
the absence of love or the
fury of hate it's not
anything but
minutes torn inside out
and stretched into infinity
and as each beat of my
heart lands in my mouth
I would give almost
anything to
not be
this
all of my parts ripped
out and laid on a rock
like a squirrel, a child's
sick project for the
day anything to
keep boredom
away
I love you, why
not?
your project for
tomorrow is to learn
love anything but
hate start with
your mother it's
not too late then
move on to the
living not
you
not anything
but me

Do you remember that day
in the garden I made for you
in the height of my delusions?
We were digging a hole for
our favorite cat and as our
snot and tears mixed with
the dirt I quietly suggested
you should mound the soil
to allow for the inevitable
sinking of the bones and flesh
you looked up at me with
pure malice and said through
gritted teeth, "Do you think
I've never dug a grave before?"
Instead of being freaked out
I did what any faithful wife
would do and with reverence
dear, always with reverence
I spray painted the *******
off Buddha's forehead to
place it on the grave and
you laughed and laughed
and gave me a hug, told me
"This is what I keep you
around for, see?"

These fits come and go
and mostly I don't notice
the layer or two of skin
you took from me (although
I do want them back, along
with the linens and tea towels
and all of the more obvious
crap)

The ****** blade we hung
above the mantel and only
symbolically out of reach?

I want that back too, if
only to lick the blade and
have just one more miserable
moment with you