I am not this
unimaginable set
of we, two twigs
like darlings
      entwined
                and
moving lazy
up a tree,
still green
moss covered
              stone hands
warmed by the
sun and so
much
more
We
Together we might
make something
better, here inside
the blanket cover
of soil, of night
of stars and
even a well
lit
moon
I am not this
intangible
forgettable
and rarely used
tense, future
perfect and
                  continuous
Nope.
not
me

My childhood memory
comes and goes, just
like my childhood
until it simply
went; The order
of things, I don't
remember learning
the days of the week
and especially not
how nice it would
have been to know
what makes a day
out of a sun or a
moon or even
Saturn; days of
weeks of months
of years, torn up
like me never to be
retrieved like me
my childhood
memory
deceives me,
evades me,
hides from me
with only the sound
of it pushing through
yelling mouth as wide
as a mixing bowl
"MY NAME IS JANE
MY NAME IS JANE"
I said it over and over
again until it got to
dark to even play
the game where I
could be not me
for a change
I sat in a giant fire pit
encased in stone and brick
pretended it was a house
like Lucy's after she moved
to the country, not us
standing at the top of the
yard yelling cuss words
******* at cars
I suppose there were lots
of screams like when the
goldfish hit the floor and
died before we could save
even one or when mom
ran into the door again
memory does not pretend
at least it doesn't do that
we had no god, no food,
no father and no car

I do remember when our
new babysitter left us in
Paterson Park and no one
got us until it was well
after dark

Somehow none of us
screamed, why bother?
******* tee hee hee

You hold your wit and
wisdom in tight fists
rather than letting
your genius roll off
your pretty fingers
one gift after
another; no
not ever (for
fear one dumb
thumb might
betray you
and then
the other)
the art of not
knowing yourself,
a dull and painful
slice, death by
increments and
degrees with each
secret a blow against
time immemorial

if I put my next
steps
       here on earth
if I
put them in your hands
and follow
                 a few paces
behind
will you
run like a thief
thinking you
                      have
caught the better part
of me?

you fool

I would hate
to be
       as empty as you
running off with
only that
               little bit
that vicious bite
                             not even
the best bit
of me

I was saving that
for later
             see?

Today, just as easily as yesterday
or even tomorrow, and who really
knows what sort of cosmic change
one more trip up the stairs, a minute
or so involved in finding a set of keys
can bring? I do not claim any bit of
godly eye into the possible futures
much less the remiss and distress
of the concreteness of the past

No

Even so I can tell you this:

Today I ran over a wedding gown
in the middle lane of a local interstate
and just as I was getting over the shock
and twist of so much crinoline, so much
taffeta, catching a breath and wondering
what it could mean: what looked to be
a golf ball bounced twice in front of me
then bashed around under me and
any hope of spying it in my rear view
was dashed completely

I was trying to listen to an NPR show
about the human mind and death and
what we think we can tolerate in the end
is exactly what we cling to, if only
to not end

I was reminded of my mother's slow
and lingering death (painful, thoughtless
absurd) and how many lives end that way
not at all what we plan to endure with
the pleas to please **** me when it comes
to that and not a minute more, absent
of all dignity which we think in our
last lucid moments is important;
which we think in our last lucid
moments is more important than
diapers or mumbling or *******
ourselves

And not a single one of us knows
when we will give in, what little
moment will mark the beginning
of the end- a golf ball, a wedding  
dress, a wolf passing by our bathroom
window as we take a midnight ****

That could be enough, that could be
the undoing, a small grunt and a passing
fact, like you- passing, fact, past tense
just a glint in a lonesome wolf's eye
as you cross over from wanting to live
to wanting to die

"Yeah, that's 'Almost' with an 'A', yup, kind like
'John Amos' but with a 't' on the end,  also with
an 'l' between the 'a' and the 'm'..."
"Huh? Who's John Amos? jaysus feckin christ,
'Good Times'? The guy with the wide nostrils?
Bad example, sorry, let's move on..."  
"...that's 'a' as in 'aardvark', 'l' as in... no no no, only
one 'a'... 'l' as in 'lemur', 'm' as in... '******' (this
person knows how 'aardvark is spelled?) 'o' as in
'o my god', 's' as in... 'seizure'- yeah, that's 'seizure'-
S,E,I,Z,... no no no! not 'c'! 'z' as in 'zoo'...  'u' as in
(******* christ) 'UNICEF'... yeah, UNICEF, I think it's
an anagram... huh? ANAGRAM! with an 'a'!  'a' as in..."
"Okay, so that's 'a'... where the **** were we? NO
I WON'T WATCH MY LANGUAGE! Anyway where
the **** are you? Mumbai? As in former Bombay?
(why'd they change the name?)... and why do they
only train you in English cuss words? What was that?
What I just said or how do I spell my name? o crap just
never mind."
"...'o'? What's after 'o'? You mean you're actually keeping
track?!? wow! Forget what I said about your training-
you're a ******* genius... O... no, not 'o'! Only one
'o'! So, one 'o', not two, not..."
"In fact, **** it, I don't give a **** anymore, add an 'o'
to my name, call me "Almoost" call me "Bitchface", huh?
You wanta know how I spell Bitchface?"
"Where were we... 'o'... NO! NOT A THIRD 'O'!"
" 's' as in **** **** ****... and 't' as in um, Tel Aviv
... hello? HELLO???"
"O my god o my god omygodomygod I just got
disconnected!"
"NOOOOOOOO"!

People like you they
eat **** and call it
caviar and never
offer me a spoon
full (no thanks
******)
People like you
carry Hellos like
indented designer
scars FROM BLOOMIES
screamed in my ear and
FROM BARNEYS
(*******)
People like you
run over cars instead
of cars running over
them taxis even stop
and pick them up
and **** like that
People like you
smell different
to feral people
like me, sitting in
Central Park waiting
for the Museum of
Natural History to
open cuz it's free
and it's cold and
I stink and The Oak
Room threw me out
decades ago do you
recognize me?
People like you
live forever, are 30
years old forever
not me, I turned 80
on my 8th birthday
People like you
do not see me
thankfully the
shock would add
a good 20 years
to the bottoms
of your shoes
nope you don't
have to tell
people like
me dead from
the neck up
unwanted from
the neck down
dead like that
people like me
put a fancy dress
on it, buy it a bicycle
and a cashmere coat
to hold in the disaster
people like you don't
want to see

Time flies. Unless you
can't tell time.

A word to the wise is useless
if it makes no sense.

Passing an irregular verb.

I'm happy to see you
(answer) I'm happy you're
happy to see me.

I wake up like there's a
fire ******* up my ***.

It's like getting half of your
**** ******- and not the
top half.

Dog (sketch of dog).

****** smile.

Barry's number in case
I forget it (no number written).

Miss What Felony
Police (illegible)
no Jeopardy.

We're still anonymous.

(Thank goodness I write all
of this stuff down!)

No one need
tell how we met
again here
      under
         the
            steady
gaze
of the moon
plumped by love
first silvery and
jelly smooth,
         nothing
   daylight could ever
            improve (this
is what I think)
when I face the window
and let the moon
lick my body
   when you are  
      through
                     You
heat the wet side
of me like syrup
in a spoon
while the radiator
clatters, sings
way
out of tune
      (ribbons of heat
         over flesh cooled
            by the moon
Back and forth)
if only
I could stretch the
      night; I whisper
I love you and
again
      I say it
too soon

My body did not
tell your body
she was planning
a party there
I hope it's okay
no one is invited
but you, most of
you, that is, and
only the best parts
of mine

(By invitation only
we will leave the
rest behind)

My body wants
your body to
maybe keep
your brain
out of this
that is no thinking
allowed, not even
mine, crowded
thoughts
they ruin it
don't they?
they ruin a good
party every time

My body wants
your body; I hope
your body wants
mine

And so and so
off I go on my
unbroken flight
carrying a bowl
of broken wings
none of which fit
quite right-
cast offs for the
incurable and for
those of us less
durable
(god speed
they say
which means
exactly
what?)
nothing
in two syllables
and sailing headlong
into the abyss
while answers hang
from questions
the gods sleep their
unbroken sleep
meanwhile twist
so many lovers
the broken slumber
of the horribly
remiss

m'lady mistakes
a punch to the face
as something more
compliant
tis not his kink
you should know
as you stand there
all defiant
a twist and turn
and a slow waxy
burn
is all you ever
hoped for
but with regard
to you and
the things you
do, your neck
is what a
rope's for
to keep this man
one rule of thumb
and forget the
usual blather:
have a ****
'tween your thighs
keep your mouth
well shut and at
the end of day
when he thinks
of you not as
a ***** but
a **** is all
that really
matters

When windows fail
and mirrors who once
bade an affirming nod
now shake a conscience
loose and all reflections
once scraped and bowed
mark a line between
looking at and
through;
When quests and
questions echo not
nor draw an audience
near, but rather fall
flat in front of you
and absent any
cheers;
Take a rest
and your last
breath without
fog or frost or
dew;
Without any calm
or calamitous shows
drawn from people
pets, or pews;
We'll get along fine
by a godless design
to finally be rid of
you

If a Jenny met
a fella met him
eye to eye, how
could he be
so hard to
doom to make
a Jenny cry?
(Did she did
or did she not
look him
in his eye?)
and when
a mirror
conscience
shook did
he not make
a rotten lie?
If a Jenny
smiled at
him or any
bluest eye
laid a Jenny
on her back
and looking
at the sky
Tell her true
(what did
he do when
he took her
by surprise?)
can a fella
can he now
before she
grow old
and die?
If a Jenny lets
loose a fella
of all his
woes and
whys? let
a Jenny o
let a Jenny
rise

I wanted to write a poem
about kissing walls of all
shapes and sizes, about
davening or dervishing
not to mention shokeling
or the Arabic equivalent
but who wants to start
any sort of war? not me
said the girl no longer
a girl so if you see me
with a black box wrapped
tightly around my cocked
to the side head and I am
trying to kiss a rock
and not you instead-
please don't take it
personally- I'm as
confused as you
although I carry no
ammo or weaponry
or even self righteous
blather: I am not from
here or there or anywhere
you think might matter
in fact I do not matter
at all, perhaps I have
Tourette's, perhaps
I like to spin in place
and kiss rocks and
rub my skinny Irish
face at tourist traps
of no specific religious
affiliation, perhaps
I am CONFUSED
by all of your
tourist maps
read the back flap
(*Disclaimer: we hold
no responsibility for
your imminent
death, biblical  
or otherwise)

I would like to
**** a you or a
me, starkly
purely, so
much more
stutterly and
with a fork
says She
Go then, laughs
(pulls sheets
over knees)
says He
colder shoulder
cold bare ***
Your window
smells like cars
says She
Pools of sweat
lost of joy
taste of tongue
barely, Could
you please
asks She
possibly
feed me?

I don't know why I
stopped whatever
I was doing, likely
nothing, which is
hard to stop
doing
But I did, I
even stopped
moving my hands
and spent a moment
not recognizing them
like a word said over
and over again until
it sounds foreign
like detergent
de... ter... gent...
detergent
detergent
detergent
O yes, that was it
I stopped saying
detergent
and
I looked over at
the mulberry tree
the very moment
it dropped each
and
every leaf
soundlessly
no rustling, not
even a breeze
How fortunate
to shut up long
enough to bear
witness to such
things

Meh derl'n, meh dere
who laid meh heer,
lait'ly on meh bak
ta stere et theh stars
frum theh windo clere
an mite ev'n been fruhm
mars

Laid here fair an squair
ta tuch an tuch, o yoo
an so much, on theh
uth'r side fruhm meh

Lait'ly dere, throo
a vale of teres) yoo
luff, quake b'nethe
me brethe an awl
theh uth'r stuff
weel cullit quite
like deth meh
dere

I am going to have a dinner party
(my heart is set, do not try and
discourage me)
The psychiatrist asks, "How
long has this been going on?"
fuckingtwitfuckingassfucking
doctornowaren'tWEtwee?
my inner dialogue kicks in
without the slightest prompting
I am going to have a *******
dinner party and not even you
can stop me
(you see I lived in a hollowed out
shell was stuffed inside onetwothree
sometime in 1962  or was it '63?
I think I think at least I think
it was me
until
they dragged me out by
my leg and plopped me
down on this bug eaten
couch O
THE INDIGNITY)
I'm going to have a dinner party
then they'll see
this little dump here?
naturally it's only temporary
that's what they keep
telling me
but they won't, they won't
stop pulling at me,
rubber fitting for my mouth
"Bite down!" how bout how
bout say please? and the rest
of them they sit in a row
and tell me it's for the
electricity (who's
the crazy one now?)
I'm going to have a dinner party
and none of you can
stop me

I sit on a stone
grave next to
Truffaut's stone
tomb, breaking
the spine of a loaf
of bread and the
smell of sausages
stuck in our coats
and clothes and
even our heads

We break each
other (we break
each other's hearts
like that) without
words for love
We break each
other instead

It is Autumn and
the entire flat leaks
the radiator spits
on us as we don't
sleep and

In the dim light of
six am I hang my
half frozen body
out of a window
smoke a cigarette
and flick my ashes
on the pagan altar
below, littered each
morning with condoms
another rite of passage

Like spreading crumbs
on a tomb of a long lost
idol; without kisses
without warmth
all of that was
supposed or
imagined or
meant to come
from my heart

I traveled 6,000 miles
to find out he did not
carry my heart with
him but left it home
and unattended

We talked about this
breaking bread, the crack
between the living and
the dead

And just like that
all the world
dropped
dead

I take small bites like
a stomach locked in
      a corset
my heart, too
is trapped under
a vice
I do not make
a pig of myself
I give my eyes
a sense but not
a solid reality
why linger in this
tomb (you see
the moment we met
he was already dead
to me)
Love my dear is
a eulogy
Buy the cheapest
box and move on
Cardboard
Victorian
The last of that
model and would
      it be pretentious
to have my stone
      inscribed:
The wallpaper was
killing me
?

TONGUE breech
birth RIPPED free
from the first BATTLE
CRY of infancy- a
SCREECH from
Mommy's tomb-
you made a poem
of me
DARLING meet
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 AN F
GIMME AN E
gimme gimme
gimme a ****
tionary
YOU are a poet
now go
away

She enters a room
with a compact stare
that SNAPS SHUT
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
divide
because

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

she is ALL GEOMETRY
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
because

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

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

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
thumb
pried away
from the
other
I am
free

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
shoe

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

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
you

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

Stillborn

What an awful word

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

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
SAY CAN YOU SEE? WHAT
THE CRACK'S DONE TO
ME?

(yes, we can.)

The woman in the window
claps heartily while the one
in the park takes a bow
(O
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
TV?

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
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
(see?)
and now it's too late
*******, you're my
*****
(see?)
She misunderstands
EVERYTHING and so
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

YOU O you o impossible
you, would like me to
fit you into my mouth
with a shoe horn you
and a shoe OPEN WIDE
(he says) spread those
wings and he pulled me
apart from the inside

If I could IF I COULD dear
I would fly away from
you

YOU O PSYCHOTIC o
******* (and *******
again, *******) you
dear o you smear o rip
me wide open like you
do O PANZERBLITZ you
treat me like your own
personal Jew

you O MERCILESS YOU
you fed off of me, you and
your little fake **** of a face
YOU ******, FOR SO LONG
it was only you

me (O ME) WHAT you left
of me, there on the side of
your shoe, dog ****, no I am
not, simply not, YOU FORGOT
what you left behind left to rot
***** you

(and yes and yes and certainly
so much less, you nullified me
and nothing here, nothing left
to fix with your rotten
tools)

Like a child you liked to
see how things worked
from the inside pulled
apart one piece at a time
the clock no longer ticks
and I don't think so, no
this heart no longer
kicks, put back together
like this, BANG UP JOB
if I must say so and I
must

Your outrage is a foot
on my throat, my mute
mouth is no match
against the clatter
and bash, like
the banging of pots
and pans on New Years
Eve, your outrage is
expressed as joy
while mine is broken
into a thousand silent
pieces, mine now
yours
Your outrage has
made mine invisible
and even improbable
You are the worst
kind of thief
of uncountable
things
with no evidence
of your onus, once
mine, heavy with
time but made
light of
No wonder your
outrage comes so
easy, weightless
as it is
I do not want
to be any part
of the cause
you took from
me, made
ridiculous
squalid and
squandered
I want you to feel
the real thing, at
least. up until the
moment it silences
you

I live 10,000 miles under
the sea, I am this happy
gasp of air, the thud of
my blood beating in my
ears, I saved this breath
for you and for me

Darling twisted happy
a conk shell to hear you
and the sand that slips
between our toes, the  
grist and grind of every
human kind I see your
face swapped for one
wave after another
I call this Repose

I could wait forever

You are some kind of
fish, now ain't you?

I know you're learning
how to breathe, big effort
for so much hot air, my
pride beats in my pulse
first for you then for me
I am an empty tank of
despair, so much for
a fair trade, you still
pretend, still hanging
in there

Darling, my turtle
your arms and legs
times four, you're
kind of ugly, if not
for the water around
your wrists and ankles
the better to take you
there

I could wade forever

You think love is hot
and painful but mine
is cool and green, you'll
see, here with me or there
with your final and very
memory

(it's only scars) but
it hurts! from Mars
you see: from far away
The Lord of Indifference
dropped a seed (she's
just a ****)
O but the pain!
and the No and
the No and the No
and you can't get blood
from a stone (lemme
show you my river
of red throbbing
with a tide all
my own, hurdles
at me O COMET
OF PAIN (am I
really and truly
this insane?)
The red licks the
lips of all the red
gone dead tongue
dried to a crisp
all bones and stones
(and yes I really
am) sorry folks
follow the arrow
and pay your dues
egress is thatta way
and no one remembers
the precise way to
doom

Was in my heart
(was in my head)
Was in my throat
(I knew no dread)
Was on my lips
(and so I said)
Rolled off my
      tongue
I love you
(dead)

Too late, too late
(his heart turned
      stone)
I wanted him
(go home,
      go home)
In words, in deeds
(I should have
      known)
Goodbye my
      dear
(I'm all alone)

I have no idea what does
or does not grow in those
sorry patches once full
of hope, the ones I checked on
everyday, waiting for the first
bit of green to push its way
out of the earth as if to prove
something about my worthiness
my optimism, even in the face
of all that other decay
I don't believe he ever
took a look, kept his face
pointed the other way
sure of disappointment
but like a kid who can barely
wait for Christmas he waited
for a garden that pops up
all in one day, along with
a woman that transforms
over night, not the one
he went to sleep with
but someone so much
better
I've always had the hope
that in my absence my
gardens flourished,
even went crazy with
green and vines and
fruits and flowers,
so many flowers
and even with the next
one coming behind me
and bashing the crap
out of everything that
sprouted, that's okay
I imagined always the
following year and
and the one after that
in the event she was
still there, the blooms
coming back in spite
of all her efforts to
**** them
and if flowers could talk?
what else could they say
but, Lady, give up-
she will never go
away

Part One
Not me said the Jenny
all spun and hung from
a tree branch, dead
and she tosses her guilt
her blame, her shame
like a wedding bouquet
You mistake me for
something so happy
and fed, Go! Spend
your noon- we'll
give you a spoon
I am the kind of joy
that hangs from every
near dread- the handle
the candle (the candle)
the locked door and
the latch
Miss Jenny,
spoon fed

Part Two
I am a friend to all
animals and they are
a friend to me, we share
our blood, the same
slow trickle, the flood
I am like Saint Francis
hold me, you animal
close to your chest
feel the flood of
blood's cadence
the surge, the drop
to the floor, how
I say love

You tell me I am the store clerk
in this company store
I am the one with the yardstick,
a symbol of authority, you say
but one I never used to measure
my own faults or even measure
the thread you used to catch
me in so many knots

You send me away with a few
extra inches, a mind crammed
with outrageous hope, and a
checklist of unanswered questions
dandelion in hand encouraging
the dust, a beat up rusted hope
in the middle of a fallow field

You never thought I'd backtrack
did you? tripping over that pile
of threads, my foot caught in
the center, a prey through
a scope with laughter on
the other end

Again I tell you I need
to know more than I need
to know you
I need to know the glory
of winning a war I once
thought was ridiculous

(And when I look down
and see you have dressed me
in a fool's garb you say not
to worry because looks
can be deceiving
and what the ****
do I know?)

The truth will reveal itself
in a slow and sly burlesque
flowers dropping their petals
**** and unbearable and
when the answer comes
to your lips you will not
know how to say yes
your mouth pressed
into a no and the rest
the rest, the rest

"I am only the maid!"
she will shout at him
then disappear for
a week
hunted down like
lean dog in winter
he always proffered
her a treat
and how could she
refuse? with hatred
she would show up
again to clean his
dishes and make
the bed,
until he got it in
his head, well, he
decided he liked
the maid and not
in the way she was
usually liked
which is to say he
was ***** (no, but
thanks anyway)
a week or two later
he tells her he's in
love and she bursts
out laughing, tells
him she's not 11
years old
but
she did have a lot
of bills, about 800
bucks worth, give
or take
O NO! (you see
it was love and love
is free), three more
weeks and he's
climbing the walls
reconsiders her
circumstances
and his own
another day or two
he has made the maid
on the fresh linens and
all was pretty romantic
until he raised himself
on one elbow and blew
hot air in her face and
a hot load in her ****
he said, "You know
this isn't quid pro quo
..." and she answered
"Veni, vidi, vici...
(whatever gets
you off.")
and what a happy
woman was she
money new minted
in her fat purse
and this little piggy
went wee wee wee
all the way back
to Queens
yup

Sisters, with love
hanging from their
clasped hands
swinging back
and forth like
a jump rope
double dutch
double something
a team, you would
think, but no
Faith is full of
christian love
while Hope
is morally
broke
cashed out
so to speak
but she keeps
her mouth shut
these days
while Faith appeals
to Charity, their
first cousin
a ***** (shouldn't
she have plenty
to spare?)
Faith moves around
from square to square
like a chessboard
piece, missionary
turned mercenary
cashing in on
blank checks
from God
Faith is fat
with Trust
while Hope
wrings her hands
and casts an eye toward
Charity, whatta ****
never there when
you want, that's
love, two sisters
at each other's
throat, charity
torn in half
bashed open like
a piggy bank
where's Trust
when you need him
most? (looking up
the skirt of Hope
while pinching
the *** of Faith
taking the last shards
of Charity, you
betcha) see you
next Sunday
see?

I want to dress up
like Kim K. and ****
your **** I want
to be culturally
relevant I want
to run into Prada
and **** every
mannequin
and leave a blood
soaked floor
and what's more
I want to blame it
all on you calling
me a *****
I am the human toll
of all your deficits
I am a felony waiting
to unfold I am your
worst nightmare
wrapped in a nightgown
I am ten thousand
years old dropped
to the floor I am pure
gold
I am your trigger finger
your ten times a ******
your bomb waiting
to explode
Blame me on food
coloring and live wires
blank checks and all
the cans of food dated
expired because I have
no shelf life dear and
you waited way too
long to put it in here
so tired and so old
ouch

I bang my head
against the floor
harder! harder!
and one time
more
Alas, but I hear
someone banging
back?
A man in blue shorts
and a leather
sack?
He says to me
I hate to tell you
but you're banging
your head on the door
and not the floor
ma'am

Ah but what sort of tricks
do I have up my sleeve
when I practice to myself
deceive?
My midnight lover
with his wandering
eye has wandered too
far and wide to slyly
coax back to my side
(Ah, my dear
it's dark in
here)
yet my own and
faithful hand finds
all of the familiar
valleys and peaks-
the fingers minus
the wedding band
a well and practiced
sweep-
like a breeze
over my thighs
The art of tickling
the tickler, feels
like a tree
dropping
each and
every leaf
all at one time
I fall, I fell
again and
well met by
moonlight
let's call it
a night?)

It's a wonderful thing
to find out, clearly
I still love myself
whether or not
it's true of him
(and one more
round, shall we?
only because we
can)

Goodnight dear
and
then

(Ah, hell, just one
more...)

There lie your dreams
you on your back and
your eyes fixed on
the screen
the ceiling
the nighttime
screams
(convince yourself
in those squalid moments
this this THIS is what
you want THIS is
romance THIS is
the man of your
dreams
While you lie pinned
by the center of your
soul, arms and legs
spinning around
like a clock with
too many
springs
this is the hour
of your regrets
your squandered
bit of everything
and nothing is quite
what you thought
it would be, like you
love him and of course
the screams

I say hanging from the hinge
of homelessness is the worst
sort of terror- try it (you
dipped your toes in once)
You say well everyone
has a door to open, to close
to keep the world at bay
(how quaint) I say
you have never been
without keys or a bed
or any old piece of floor
to rest your head
hmmph, well,
there was that time
you slept in a fountain
and all of Italy was yours
a plate to eat and yeah
you woke up wet and
sopping but you didn't
notice the rainbow
at your feet (did
you?) and
mother could always
find you and you could
always find her- at the end
of a Western Union while
your belly grumbled
for more screamed
for that sense of
entitlement YOU
REMIND ME OF A
BABY whining for
a new and clean place
to ****, white and full
of plenty but for
the one time you
rubbed shoulders
with reality, when
you ended up in a
decaying heap
you spent your short
life learning to skip
to throw a blind eye
to close your ears and
your nose when mother's
grasp let go for that one
terrifying moment
what did it feel like,
that slip into the gutter
of humanity's woes?
smells a lot like ****
(don't it?)

We all make a lot of noise
hoping someone will hear us
even the most demure has
her own din, voice thrown
into the mouth of a cave
as she pushes the lid
down tight from within
Her unremarkable voice
still leaks as easy as
breathing, as brittle
as tin
Or
like me:
banging around a cage
a self-made cell not so
much iron but a filigreed
and diaphanous hell
In
the present:
I drag these clenched jaws
behind me, like a ticker tape
stuck to my ankles and toes
like wedding cans and bells
stuck in the throes of a big
hot noise of celebration
melted into concrete and
bouncing down empty halls
of frozen woes, tired toes
and somewhere my feet
keep the clutched rhythm
of me
if
and only if:
sunk below the sill
at the crack of dusk
what remains in a husk
and I wave from my paned
pain, silent on the outside
but what a racket from
within
p.s:
dear sir you did nothing
but throw me out having
once taken me in

I want to paint all of the furniture
Chinese red and lacquer the
living crap out of it
until my face
is reflected
in every
corner
drawer
and even
the bed
I will leave my face on every surface
so that even with his flights of
of knee **** denial, he will
learn the exact nature
of liver colored
shredded
torn
then
reborn
dread
I want to add another stanza
the kind that smacks a person
in the head, the back and flat
and dinosaur part where
his most stupid thoughts
are formed along with
his grunts and
pointed
opposable
thumb
dumb
that
is
But why bother when I can
simply move on
instead?

THIS is the epitome
this is the empty me
I revisit the cavern
to see the small
scrapings, pigments
pulled from my flesh
the child version of all
that was eating me
wheat colored stone
the chaff and the grain
rock against rock
the color of pain
the greedy green
chlorophyll, the part
and smart of my brain
YOU there and I point
a finger like a paintbrush
of despair, yellowed by
the sun and turned to
soup by the falling rain
WHAT sort of thing
could lift me out of this
forever wanting?
a red leveled plow
of your heart digs
at my veins
He is forever
mister dead set
blues for my
pain

You, there
me, here (fair
and square) fists
empty arms full
of air, thief! rich
with my despair
from my gut
(strings, strings!
a violin, a tennis
racket, sinew
strung from one
pile of...)
gloating, surely
belly full another
wind filled ****
another plus on
the minus side
of me, robbed
mostly of you
(who cares?)
I thought
mostly of you
the great con
job and how
does your garden
grow, kicked like
that? (o what
a pair you
make

I need I need I need (let
me repeat I NEED)
your **** between
my thighs I need
to feel your hot and
heavy breath between
my sighs I need
your fingers in my
*** and in my
****** baby like
a bowling ball
I will roll quite
heavy slam me
right into the
wall
I need you I need all
every bit and even
the hell of you
even your empty
voicemail piece
an automated I DON'T
GIVE A **** I need
I need your *******
face
****

each letter rolled
'round my
tongue, wet
with let's
say ess and
ess indeed
('tween you
and me)
shy one
letter, YES
eeeeGADS
whoop-eeee
(d)eee
easy like
me
say pretty
pleeeese
ex
lover
ex
con
ex
marks
the
spot
yes please
***
(***!)

I can't I can't I simply
cannot live with this
emptiness (and why
didn't anyone tell me
how empty it would
be?) hell, I didn't expect
a box of chocolates (melted
stuck to the mailbox) or
even a limp dozen roses
or a farewell cordially
written by the hand
that knows well how to
cordially say goodbye
but I did expect something
and never mind why-
I expected maybe for
the sky to change color
or for each and every leaf
on each and every tree
to turn around in mourning
in deference to some wild
thing that not even nature
can explain, me and my
heart torn away like bark,
undressed of love and left
with only my nakedness
I thought I would feel it
in the air, come sweeping
down and defining each
of my breaths, each one
a death to me when really
I deserve no less than
a two mile snake of black
that runs through every red
light and leaves nothing
but road rage in it's wake
(hear me snicker between
the walls, ceiling, and floor
of my new and fabulous tree)
There is no special ceremony
no cake to cut, no carrying
this great loss over a threshold
like a bride, like a widow
all in one day, this death
like so many others that
folks just want to turn their
heads away, this death
like so many others, an
embarrassing display