My ego wasn't built
for his kind of abuse
banal, pedestrian- more
Ralph Kramden then
anything, couldn't even
finish a sentence except
with a shaking fist ("Well
I oughta...") and how many
evenings we sat together
on the couch as he listed
the ways I failed him and
why he doesn't punch me
in the mouth, how one punch
would **** me for sure ("is why
he don't hit me, at least not
anymore...")

I am but one more in a long line
of reluctant escapees, more ashamed
of my leaving then I am of staying
because the former is so visible
while the latter happens behind
of everyone's eyes (the whole
block has heard all variety of
shrieks and cries, one after
another, hustling from the
door to the car and then in
reverse, sunglasses and a hat
each day a little less of a person
first breakable then broken while
he grew larger in the same
increments, grew fat)

There is no understanding
around there, only a tsk tsk tsk
and the occasional "stupid *****"
"must love gettin' hit, why else
would she be back?"
but if I knocked on one of their
doors all ****** and bruised
would someone answer?

Even before shame takes over
they make up some excuse still
peering at me through a crack
in the drapes I AM NOT THEIR
****** MISTAKE is why I
don't leave because their kind
of abuse is even harder to take

Invisible women take up
a lot of space

step one: lie and tell everyone it's your birthday
step two: if no one asks "What do you want for your birthday?" make a big scene, ask for a ride to the local posh loony bin, and then say, "Well, never mind... I'll live..."
step three: open one eye and see if anyone gives a flying ****
step four: when someone finally asks "So what the **** do you want for your fake birthday, you *****?" act coy and smile a lot
step five: point to the ceiling and kick him/her/them in the shins
step six: get them to agree that this whole thing *****
step seven: feign surprise when they ask you again "WHAT THE **** DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY YOU INSANE ****!?"
step eight: mention that a couple hundred bucks wouldn't **** you

"To begin with, all my boyfriends
need to be named Anthony-
are you okay with that,
Anthony?"
from the look on his face
well, he doesn't look exactly
okay with it so I try to reason
with him, point out how ******
his current name is and how
being called Anthony should
come as a great relief ("Right
Anthony?")
and now he looks to be
in bargaining mode so
I stop him before he wastes
any breath- "No, we're not
gonna settle for Tony- Tony's
worse then the name you
need to get rid of." and
just like that he jumped
out of my car at a red light
which you might think
would surprise the crap
out of me but nope-
he's the third Anthony
I've lost this week and
it isn't even Friday

Love saves the day and
kisses all of your wishes
kisses them straight
away
Love holds your hand
and leads you to YES
YES YES and you say
yes indeed, I will
follow
Love yanks your arm
out of its socket and
hangs there like an empty
sleeve
Love did not have to ask
you and when he left, well,
Love did not ask him to
leave
(you did, study the facts
Missy)
Love ***** you and *****
you hard and especially
when you're not looking
Love shoves you *** back-
ward, *** over tete, Love
shoves you into an oven
please
Love is your last refuge
(and when you get there
there is no refuge)
Love laughs in your face

Valentine's Day
makes me think of
VD and if only
syphilis had
overtaken
Thee
I called him 'Thee'
for the shortest while
(wasn't that a royal
week?) the easier to
transition from 'Thee'
to 'The' and ain't I
tricky?
After convincing him
I had lost the second 'e'
to a stroke I woke up
one morning, took it
in the mouth, and
called him 'He' which
made him feel like
he had left the room
already
(if only)
'It' was the end of
'He' and also 'Me' (no
matter that we were
equal now
see?

This is a parable.
I know I'm not supposed to announce
whatever folly my unworthy fingers
might construct- and in the case that
I fail entirely, well, it's too late to say
this is a magazine ad. For perfume.

I can at least tell you this is not
a perfume ad.

I want to tell you all about the man
who falls in the river every night
(and, no, he is not Heraclitus so
it IS the same river even when
it's not

For our purposes, it is the same
river)

Some of us find comfort in that
sort of continuity while others dare
to dream

The man in the river never
remembers his dreams- it could be
because of the way is jolted awake
Instant Terror, Self Hatred, and
Stench clobbers him, **** dreams.

Except that day.
He woke up with a brocaded toe
clamped between his teeth and
fell instantly in love while the mouth
so far above the toe, it screamed
and screamed and scream

For the next 28 years the river dude
languished in a cell and spent each
of those years building a palace
in his mind for the brocaded
toed princess.

Naturally upon his release
he would be covered in brocade
as well, you see the man had gone
quite insane, meanwhile the toe
and the mouth did as well
Go insane.

What did it matter that he
never saw her face, save the
shrieking maw? and anyway
he knew all he needed to know
just by memorizing her foot

It turns out the bellowing lady
only had one shoe, a lovely one
at that and what did she need
with two?

It turns out the screaming lady had
only that one foot and the rest
of her was such a mess having
only one leg was a leg up

The river man was a *****
and an *******.

He never loved the one
legged lady but stupidly
fell in love with a shoe
which got him a long
prison sentence.

Love what he or she is
and not what he or she
could be- after all, they
gave you a chance.

Jack ***.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satin's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Do you remember me
like I remember you?
Shakespeare class together
in our hippie high school
I remember our legs entwined
lying on our backs and sharing
one volume; you played Demetrius
to my Helena; it was spring
unfolding all around us
and like the most obvious
O'keefe sort of bloom
we filled up every corner
of that room with our untried
adolescence
(the teacher, frustrated and stern
only because I was ******* him
too)
By the end of that summer
my Demetrius had landed in
a cell- he could throw a good brick
through the window of anywhere
I asked but, alas, he couldn't do it
well
Come senior prom one year later
I had forgotten all about him
and he about me; forty years
later we seem to have got
everything we craved, that is
everything but the real thing
and that's good enough for
me

Love is a party to
which you are not
invited

Ah well, two or
even three steps
short of hate, good
enough, you are
the waitress of his
cold served fate
(eat it, I
insist)

You, ****, have
convinced the one
who hates you most
that in the absence of love
well, here is your ghost

Warm, right holes
right temperature

Oooh lah lah

You cannot go past
those red velvet ropes
the ones meant for v.i.p.s
and certainly not for you
to pass through

Love exits each time
you enter

Love is a party, dear
but not a costumed event
you stake your **** hole
of a mouth as a declaration
of love, you stake your
freakish circus tent

Ten years, count 'em
a few more, count 'em
your sort of love is a war
of attrition

(****, ****, ****
you blinded ***-faced
bug)

Veni, vidi, vucci
go to hell you
slug

We play dress-ups and
you are the monster
while I am the queen
I wear a pretty dress
mascara, lipstick
the whole ******
thing
And you hide under
the bed

You are too terrible
to be seen

You are the reason
children take a running
leap from the door
to the bed and
over the floor
(lest something awful
grab their ankles and
shake the muffled
shrieks from them
no, no, no (no
okay... yes)

We play dress-ups
have smokes between
acts, mommies and
aunties and all pretty
women smoke lovely
cigarettes

(you, stay under the
bed)

I think she was there
the entire time, watching
my thighs, shins, ankles
feet disappear each
night and
I should've heard
it breathing, her
under his side
of the bed
while he was ******* me
he was ******* her
in her head

Let's play dress-ups
let's pretend he is the man
and you are the woman
in his demented scheme

(I imagine her mouth full
of his kind of love, something
dreadful indeed

anything to accommodate
his seething hate)

Open wide and she is
full as a balloon on a Sunday
afternoon birthday party
in June, pretty dresses
and ugly, dead
inside

Let's play dress-ups
I am the queen and you

You are that infernal machine
called hate

Of course there was- "There was an error
in posting. Please try again."

One and one and (that thing
behind your back) makes me
minus two or even sometimes
three
You times ten then half
the negation of five cats
one ******* itself half
to death and one
buried in the yard
under the Buddha and
the one who said NO
THANK YOU does
not equal we
Last year does not
equal next year
no matter how many
beets push through
the dirt especially
when Miss Invitation
to Death bashes the crap
out of everything with
the back of a shovel
(nope, nowhere near)
making quick work
of me with nine tenths
left behind (not on
purpose and none
of it rhymes (not on
purpose plus one tenth
of the part of you that
is good does not equal
Should or Would or
even Could) none
of it, not me not
you and If stands
for Infinity, not ours
someone else's
(******* times four
equals another *****
banging on her knees
knock knock not me
10,000 times goodbye
is why I left the keys)

My heart is a bassoon
once I've tackled it
to the ground, oboe
in my good hand
As a battering ram
A morning star
A mace
A flail

Nary more a tune

My heart is a bassoon!
got it now? It waits
to fill up every room

"Water always finds
It's own level" or so they
say and if my heart were
full of water I wouldn't
have a clue what they
mean by that anyway

My heart is a *******
bassoon and if I were to
put it in the bath it would
ruin it

I thought nothing of living
in a tree house at the age
of fourteen which baffles me
(why did this come so naturally
not to wonder at my lack
of sturdy walls and a family?)
and anyway my favorite saint
hung out in the upper limbs
of trees, throwing rocks
at her suitors, mostly
old men, stooped and
earth bound
Her father had sent them
one after the other until
she finally shattered and
winter was coming anyway
time for her to scatter

As did I.
The breeze was killing
me.

No one sees fourteen
year olds who live in trees
I assure you, NO one.

We are legion, our invisible
army of doom, no wonder
so much comes naturally
to me, having been taught
to not see the worst of
atrocities, I am perfectly
able to not see too

I'm not that different
from you

If you've read your Charlie
Dickens you would see me
through the gloom, a bit
of an anachronism but
it will just have to do

I spent half my life
as a homeless agoraphobe
think about that
I have been predisposed
to fling myself at anyone
or anything that has even
a hint of promise of a home
Home. Searching far and wide
What on earth is it anyway?
as a child I would spend
half the day starving
and the other half gagging
down what I was told
was a meal
I didn't know broccoli is
green until I had some in
prison. Home.
Transitory.
Devilish.
The Easter bunny visits
homes but in our case
sorry kids, he broke his
leg this year and that's
when I found out every
adult was a liar. Including
the Easter bunny, in his
disheveled fur stinking
of gin with two perfectly
good legs.
And those were the good
years

You nearly dropped me
to my knees, somewhere
between those two valves
holding all of my blood
between you and your
trumpet call of ******
and rusty notes, I did
I did as I pleased

My parenthetical ******
you and your aborted mission
as if my heart and soul were
so much real estate,
a mere commission of
your concubine mentality
and a big ol' wrench in
your alternate reality
you did, you did
as you pleased

I defended your every atrocious
deed, you there, Herr Panzerblitz
standing with your chest out and
your thumb in the air testing
the breeze

I deferred to your omnipotence
like a good villager and even
in the shadow of each turned page
I deferred to your made up history
quelling my each and every fit
of rage

Deferring to all that was yours
was as easy as deferring my life
as a whole held in the fat of
your fist as you slowly lost
control

I am chopped in half by
the parentheses of your grip
half a woman who has found
her running legs and sliding
far and away from your
parenthetical head trip

Long trip, aint it?
from your finger
to my lips, glide
down my chin and
between my
****
(my knees are screaming
for you but darling, lets
not rush so
ah, for chrissakes,
he forgot my
hips
YOU are the king
of tomorrow I am
nothing but leftover
To Current Occupant
unread
(I stand on my porch
searching the horizon
for your headlights
the sound of a
Volkswagen
anything
I am the queen
of yesterday, at least
read my obit- I was
a well known poet)
almost

I live in a palace
of broken glass
ten times, one
hundred times
I land
I land on
my broken ***
O Daddy
o daddy
why did you
******* me
like this
ten times
one thousand
times, a broken
dish, reflected
you me YOU ME
ah f
and so
each time you
did this to me
I became the child
you abandoned
again and
again
I've grown to
despise holidays
because the include
you and all of your
solid assurance that
I'll keep your secret
Daddy I cannot bear
to be anywhere
near you
you wreck me
you break me
into these fing
prisms
and so the only way
to lose you is to lose
all of the pieces of
me
F* YOU
DAD!

(Merry Christmas
so...)

I will get straight
to the point, shoving
past year after year
after year, count them
dear, sick puppy
torn from the pack
blood smeared
you culled me from
the herd and made me
your stuffed meal
your worse than zeal
your mascot

When I was twelve years old
you bent me into a comma

When I was twelve and
one quarter you bent me
into a fist, a fetal position
you could not resist

The love of a child
when I was twelve
and a half I fought
back but lucky you
no mother love was
listening


The anatomy of a child

You *******

Who's the hunter now?

Not you, nearly seventy
years old, ***** hippie
with one dry pointed
finger (you know
which one)

To be

To be continued
when I'm done

You, who would have me believe
your greatest charity was to fool me
and that somehow feeding me bits from
the brunt and depth of your deception
was a kindness I should have appreciated
at least while you were doling it out like
a rich dowager to a gaggle of stinking
humanity from your mountain of pity
I am sorry that I failed you
You, who put such a premium
on honesty, and, indeed,
tossed me away having caught me
in your sort of lie, the sort that only
the most honest can understand
Again, I'm sorry I failed you
and, well, to be perfectly honest
(once and finally) when you told
this to me I thought you weren't
lying
You, who have taught me that
the biggest truth is so confounding
only the best of us can use it and
for me to try was pure folly
having no practice in twisting things
first arms, then wills, then my
pure and simple truth
I am sorry I failed you
You, who are safe on your mountain
where no one dare pull a brick
or a stone or even a single blade
of grass out from under you
I defer to you dear,
my one and greatest lie

You hear the high-pitch yowls of strays
fighting for scraps thrown from the kitchen window.
They sound like children you might have had.
Had you wanted children. Had you a maternal bone,
you would wrench it from your belly and fling it
from your fire escape. As if it were the stubborn
shard now lodged in your wrist. No, you would hide it.
Yes, you would hide it inside a barren nesting doll
you've had since you were a child. Its smile
remind you of your father, who does not smile.
Nor does he believe you are his. "You look just like
your mother,"  he says, "who looks just like a fire
of suspicious origin." A body, I've read, can sustain
its own sick burning, its own hell, for hours.
It's the mind. It's the mind that cannot.

Nicole Sealey

On the same night
I found my mother's scotch
and my step-monster's gun,
I learned how to deal from
the bottom of the deck
and find a fella easily parted
from his folding money yet
still think he's having fun;
That a 12 year old girl can
Make quick work of 14 year
old boy (learned the word
"sucker"), learned Barbie
was just practice for bigger
and slightly more challenging
toys;
How to hold my liquor
even if it refused to hold me
and that warm feeling in my
belly was only a short reprieve;
And at the crack of noon, after
the adults have come and gone,
how to get rid of the remnants
of a night of squalor... and
(finally) were they stashed
the ****

You make the meat
of me, the ground bits
of flesh like so much
confetti-
Congratulations! dear
and all of that crap
mind the spatter!
make haste! as
the wheel spins
past the bladder
(This party *****!)

Once again I stammer
at the words left by
others
I, I, I... can't believe
stepping through
the garden of words
squandered,
slim pickings for
this bird
Nevertheless
do not mistake
my choices, the words
that feather my nest
to be second rate
even as one after
the other is plucked
from the line-up
(they can take
the best of them
and I'll make
something worthy
of the rest)
Call it a public service
Call me a first responder
Never have words
been under such
a threat
The most pithy,
the most hackneyed
march of one word
horribly placed after
another (free will
meets a firing squad
where each gun hasn't
the stomach and even
Hallmark dodges
a hit, where remorse
is lost among the
letters

Absinthe, I carried under
My coat and over the border
From Spain to my latest
Fling with hope
The clatter of language
Is different but the more
I learn the more I understand
None of them, neither coming
Nor going, has much more
Than a veneer of charm
We are doctors
Above all else
We do know harm
Pity, ain't it? That death
Sounds so much better
In Spanish although
I wear my German
Like a saw
Cured, *******,
Broken heart and all

The recipe required tears
and so she squinted and
she squunched, forcing
whatever salt she could
gather between her ears

NOTHING

If love is anything like
this death, well

No thank you
dear

A box of tears

Searching the grocery store
shelves,
We got nothing

Aside from that?

Well, being all too familiar
with the whole *******
thing

Thank you
Dear

The dumb candle
you huddle your
fingers your hands
around, the one
that warms your
face is just as
dumb as you
or would it be
more likened to
ignorance,
you and your
dumb flame
absent of fear
from any sort
of breeze or
something
more severe
clinging to your
randomness your
Don't Open This
Until My Death
Letter pressed
to your chest
free from any
plan it's in
God's hands
(candleless, bloated
with a warmth from
within)
At a quarter to two
they murdered the
fool who dared
suggest that God's
plan is no plan
at all and the prime
mover moved only
because the rents
were too high
and you,
one dumb breath
away from freezing
from living or
dying
You do not have
that endless ride of
of flesh imbedded in
your muscle memory
nor what a cold tomb
nature and humanity
provide for the living

There are those who come
crawling on their hands and
knees, dragging with them an
eternity of distant landscapes
each bearing witness to our
love unending (honey, smile
for the camera)

I bore so easily

Who doesn't know I prefer
a receding figure as abstract
as a line of trees rather than
the acute outline of someone
I can still remember?

What makes me, of all people
worth the climb? I ponder that
often and with no reasonable
answer

That is, until today when
I realized this or that one
was more bored than me
and so. I filled a hole like
cancer

(honey, dance for
the camera)

There came a time when
I would have to let the machines
either finish my great project
of dying or god forbid
start over
I can laugh at them from
deep inside, cracking one eye
open to see if the one in charge
of watching me is finished
with her knitting
I have a great impulse
to tell her HEY THAT IS ME
that sweater in your lap
and it doesn't matter
how fierce your effort
because all things come
undone like me and and
and JOLLY GOOD WEATHER
(I scream and scream as if
from the depths of a dream
but no one hears me anymore,
not ever)

They think they've won
I stopped eatimg, they added a tube
I stopped moving, they added wheels
I stopped talking, they found a way
into my head

That was my wedding day

When they fitted my mouth with
rubber it was like getting fit for my
gown and I demanded the bride's
maids be fitted too, only in a smarter
color

And the reception was a whirl
as each of my guests danced
out of my head, one jolt after
another

I keep my groom hidden
to this day, one bit of me
they can't take away, stuffed
in my womb, a Freudian thing
I can't help but be his mother

Each morning I listened
to him **** as he slowly awoke
I jokingly called it "surfacing"
and I, like any wary prey,
gathered my armor for the day
This man thrashed so hard
in his sleep he'd bruised me
dreaming of his mother
again
WHY I OUGHTA he says
and TO THE MOON ALICE
I say in my head
He weighed himself each morning
and grew to twice my size
as I inevitably dwindled to half
if only he would join a pack
and hunt better meat than me
But I was separated from
mother love long ago
So now I'm more like penned veal
barely a meal and this is what
saves me from the cutting machine

He has decided on therapy
a diet of sorts, as he learns to eat
but not swallow and it's much like
training a dingo to be a deer
who is smart enough to let
his garden grow even if one night
feels like an eternity, never having
felt the sting or the birth of denial

The brunt of your will
the hammered vacant
out of the bag look
of your swill
the brunt of every joke
especially when I'm not
joking
like when I described
our most spiritual
(ehem) moment-
I spray painted the *******
you put on the forehead of your ex-
wife's Buddha (ancient symbol
from those parts but the irony
was lost)
to place upon the grave
of our favorite cat
I supplied the pillowcase
while my dear panzerblitz
of a man dug. and dug
and I suggested that he
mound the dirt to allow
for sinking
he looked up, morning sun
in his bloodshot eyes,
"Do you think I've never
dug a grave before?"

So, now, whenever I look out
the back door the Buddha shines
not so much me anymore
I laugh out loud, inside joke
to be sure, and not my grave
anymore

The way you smile
at me, almost six feet
above the floor, you
there, plus six inches
more (how clever
walking on your
hind legs and
all)

And I do, I do
I like to look up
at you

And when gravity
overtakes me?

Well you do, you do
you like to look down
at me

At your service dear
just feed and water me
trusty houseplant, a vine
of a thing

And you my trusty
tree of a man
feet like roots
I like to stand on
when we dance

(We have never
danced)

Asked my daddy when I was thirteen
"Daddy, can you tell me what love really means?"
His eyes went glassy, not a word was said
He poured another beer and his face turned red

Asked my mother, she acted the same
She never looked up, she seemed so ashamed
Asked my teacher, he reached for the cane
He said don't mention that subject again

My big brother told me when I was fourteen
It's time I showed you what love really means
Girls like kissing and romance too
But a boy's got to know what a man's got to do

He gave me a book, the cover was plain
Written by a doctor with a German name
It had glossy pictures, serious stuff
I read it seven times, then I knew it well enough

I read it in a magazine
(Read about love)
Cosmo and Seventeen
(Read about love)
in the back of a Hustler, Hustler, Hustler

So now I know what makes girls sigh
And now I know why girls cry
So don't tell me I don't understand
What makes a woman and what makes a man
I've never been to heaven
But at least I've read about love

And now I've got you
(Read about love)
Where I want you
(Read about love)
I got you on my test bed, test bed, test bed

So why don't you moan and sigh?
And why do you sit there and cry?
I do everything I'm supposed to do
If something's wrong then it's must be you

Well, well, well
When I touch you there it's supposed to feel nice
That's what they said in the reader's advice
I've never been to heaven
But at least I've read about love

THIS one told me
my life is in ghastly
shape
AFTER PULLING and
plying me with all manner
of tools
A SCULPTOR and his
muse
THE CREATOR of what
was otherwise mine
now abandoned
the artist is bored
he wipes his hands
of this
ONCE DECLARED done
he stands back from it
his singular and great
work
THIS ONE told me
what a disappointment
I've turned out to be
(THE GREAT artist
walks away from
me, now it's my
mess)
ALL of me undone
GOODBYE MY one
and truly handful of
none

In breath
(Out breath)
And again
And again
12,000 more times
until sweet sleep
Overtakes you
Death is stupid
Life is somewhat
smarter (or so
it is presumed)
Think about it-
what a chicken
missing its head
might be thinking
NOT MUCH

You darling
Me failed
Failed of all
grammar
Failed from
within
Oof oof
Me darling
You caveman
And I'm assailed-
You with your
tuxedo grin
and me with
my crinoline
(Dance dance
dance away
from him)
Away from
Averages that
Don't average
If you know what
I mean (darling
Death hurts less
than to take it
on the chin)

Your whole family stinks
Shopping for your dog is
so stressful you need therapy
Bears revel in their own clean
underpants but won't touch
the underpants of another
If you hug your dishwasher
and apologize for blaming it
for your lousy shopping choices
it's okay cuz there's a product
for that
If you feel like a worthless failure
due to the constant ads on TV
featuring successful people
giving cars away as gifts
it's okay cuz there's a gun
for that
If you wonder why you haven't yet
found yourself standing in a huge
empty room except for some Chevys
that pop out of nowhere and scare
the crap out of you remember:
Bears don't wear underpants
and their ***** are so clean
they Enjoy The Go and maybe
you should- GO, JUST GO

Not for want of rain, no
not why I give you my pain
expecting this immolation
to gain a self- in other words
mine and not yours
I wouldn't even want that,
the declarative words chanted
as my funeral pyre is pushed
into the current of any river
but especially the river of life
no, not me, I am not that
antique wife
Dear sir, if you are blessed
with luck and if time is your
friend, when seconds count
and especially at the end
no one will hear my charges
against you or wonder
at my pointed burning finger
as fire is overcome by water
and all is right again

Each time my eyes blink
its like a toddler banging
out a tune on a toy piano
And my eyebrows respond
with the black notes as if
to say hmmm or watch
yourself dear
Moving down to the nose
Well! What a cacophony
there! Every horn and
each in turn until
John Phillips Sousa
dies once again
You'd think the mouth
would be like the first
violin- nope that was
shut up long ago,
the screaming
stays
within

It was exactly one minute
After midnight when I fell
Madly for a shadow, a weak
Spot in that whole space/time
As if anyone would believe
In that old thing
Is love is love is love
Is not is not is not
No matter
I enjoy licking my wounds
My wounded heart, my
Syncopated madness
A march up the back of
A not so trusty ladder
A gift from a carpenter
Who fancies himself
Some sort of Jesus
Who ran out of nails
2,000 or so years ago
His mother bleats
YOU NEVER WRITE
YOU NEVER CALL
You and your fancy
Friends and all

I try to not make any
life altering decisions
when I don't feel in
my right mind, that is
mad, or simply
less than human
which isn't a bad
thing, I mean
in the absence of morals
even a chimp will end up
doing the right thing
but there I go
already bungling
one thought for
another
or, as I am wont to say
I DIGRESS,

What a quandary, then
when the very thing I want
to change is what is making
me crazy (and I say change
because being a moral
animal ****** is not
an option unless I hire
a chimp and
BUT I DIGRESS

I cannot even rely on
that whole ******* about
fight or flight- I am apt
to do neither while
being betrayed by
motor memory, no
I just sit and take it
dear and fight is not
the opposite of flight
nope nope nope
not around here

I've spent almost a decade
getting bashed around
the whole time remaining
as mute as a goldfish
(boy o boy- if goldfish
could *****! once again
I digress)

(Skip ahead ten stanzas)

I will not wait for her
to run out of weapons
there is no glory in
a war of attrition
although I do like
the idea of revenge
as long as it's done
thoughtfully and
with moral intent
or else with a chimp
let loose to eat her face
or not, I'll leave that
to Fate

what does little Ernest croon
in his death at afternoon?
(kow dow r 2 bul retoinis
wus de woids uf lil Oinis

Meh darlin' doth
meh faencie,
in aul hes waeys
quite daencie;
I gav 'im meh
charm an op
theh mountain
of hes arms,
then doon theh
ledder uv hes
romaencin'

I don't have a good heart
I do not mean well and
if I were just a tad more
despicable I'd tell you
to burn in hell
Your doting smile does nothing
but make me wish I had steel toes
and if I were a little bit more bitter
I'd kick you right in the nose
The sound of your dragging
your knees from place to place
like fingers down a chalk board
and I can only imagine your
lovesick face
If I were completely heartless
and your feelings didn't matter
a jot, I'd have your drag yourself
to a graveyard and I'd point out
exactly where you should rot
(Ah, but you think I'm joking?
and this is just a ruse?
how could I be this awful
and this must be one of
my moods)
I will not be better, not later
and certainly not soon
your love leaves me frozen
your protestations a tired tune
I beg to no one special
I make my case to the empty air
if there is a god in this place
then please, I beg, I swear
I will never again in life
beguile any living man
nor none of the uncountable
dead- I make my peace
and good riddance sweets
I've put my heart to
bed

Good morning in the garden
of forgetting, each of our chairs
assembled- Miss Postpartum
always sits on the outer edge
wedged against a tree and
looking up at the leaves
Botched Suicide, well,
there are several of us
we sit together in a loose
ring, Rope and Kicked Over
Step Stool sits at 3 o'clock
and I generally prefer 6
at the bottom of course
and Jumped From a
Window lingers around 9
for the third and hopefully
the last time
Slashed Wrist takes her
place near the top, at the
eleventh hour, as usual
she is as unsure as her
halfhearted cuts
Certainly no one is here
because we want to be
quite the opposite, we just
haven't mastered our exits
and it doesn't matter how
many mornings we find
ourselves here in this
circle of doom- at least
we know our places
all of us expecting to
exit soon

Passivity runs through her
a rat in an empty building
her skeleton
She doesn't move
not one tired knee ****
even with the teeth resting
in her lap, folded in her
folded hands
Her love for him is
a death row inmate
cold cell on a hot
afternoon, waiting
in the chair
And he is all inside her
chewing away at the anatomy
a frayed wire wrapped around
her pulse, thump thump thump
her heart beats in time with
his bored blinking eyes
He stands by her bath holding
a toaster above his head and
she waits for the wire to touch
the water, fork into the flesh
the wolf and the lamb
Tears wet the cords
he says don't call me that
(darling) push push push
it away
She says
but he is all inside her now
he will take some away
but it all grows back
and what was once benign?
like kisses and when she rubbed
against his malignant sighs?
(Any amount of pain but the
aching longing) he kisses her
and touches the bones of her
face, a skull in a field of clover
greedy green and she'll eat
anything
Did ge slap her, did he **** her
in that impossible circle
pushing the beating fingers
into her mouth? (her fingers
She ate herself one morning
after a night of trying to forget
what she could not remember

To cry like this
unending nights
with one tiny light,
one tiny squeak of day
under the mud
it is always this
way
Daylight warms
the top of my skull
as I trace the course
of the sun from one side
of my pond of tears
to the other
Over so quickly
over and done
and in that short glimpse
of daylight, my tears still
run
Deluge, dear
feel my clammy heart
there is no end when
these kind of tears
start

If I could give you every thought
that I left unexpressed and tie them
up in a drawstring bag and if this bag
could only hold the sweet ones,
the good ones, the ones that
made you feel O YES THIS
IS SOMETHING and you
could let go of the rest
well:
Thoughtless would just be
a poor beggar we never had
to feed, living on air and
quite nowhere, not
with you and not with
me and if love were
enough, if love could
make I AM SORRY
get up and stand
on its hind legs and
pick flowers from
the highest tree
we would not have
a problem now
would we? you
would be you and
I would be me
fed on promises
(there is no other world
I want than ours) and
every thought made
less thoughtless
gathered together in
my bag of Please- I would
everyday shower you
with these
If

The debut of us, dear
our red carpet affair
hangs in solid crimson
all up and down the stares
Darling you do understand
I cannot keep you under
wraps? (the wrap party
is happening now,
between the cheeks
of my ***)
And the curtains part
(o boy!) and my legs part
(o joy!) dear Sir we had
total Fuckability (now
didn't we?)
I ever and always
deferred to you
the director of me
(what an awful job
but someone's got
to do it)
And when you said
"CUT!" and cut me
in two? that's okay-
I will make do
And when you said
"CUT!" once again?
That's okay, the half
of me will survive
with the all of you
(wondering how many
times I can be halved
and quartered and still
be there, under the half
the heel of your boot
black shoe)
You, darling
you