NOBODY bothers me!
said the kid on TV
learning karate and
then HEY KIDS!
OFF OF THAT COUCH!
WHAT'RE YOU TRYIN TO DO
RUIN IT!? You see
most of our local TV
was produced by drunks
the kind you swivel
your head and see
in your own living
room- yeah, HIM!
The ******* your
mother let in when
having a weak a
drunken moment
*******, yup
HIM and so happens
the same year we learned
the Easter Bunny had
broken his leg (no
candy, GET IT?
for youse or youse
eh, and plenty of
***** for im) was
the way we learned
all about wealth and
worth and giving up
even a square yard
of turf and *******
******* we will
never call you
Daddy, another
******* has that
name and he got
there first

You
who anchors yourself
to my side like a bayonet
a harpoon
You
without a
*******
clue
don't waste your time
trying to sponge up
such grime
You
will never rise to
such dizzy heights
of my kind of dirt
You
can wish it
You
can imagine it
what it's like to fertilize
the same flower
I do
You can dream
and who am I to
stop you?

In your fairytale of hurt
I am meant to be the first
casualty

That's how each garden
on earth will surprise you

(and) Me

Me!

Gone of all want
and catastrophe!
laying the drama at your
feet is the best I can do
for we

You
are a made for TV drama
scarce and scared dear
Me and me (and
me)

Our garden

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)

when I told my father
"I wanta go
to art school"
well
he flew into a
rage- having been
there himself and after
******* in a wooden
box for four years
(with NOTHING
to show for it)
I dunno, maybe
I was drunk
or maybe I hated
him as much as I do
now but it sure made
a good joke
many years passed
and having not
committed suicide
before it was too
late I went to off
to get my degree
in philosophy
HAH!

The truth hangs inside
of a cedar closet that
      hasn't been opened
in forever
It's knotted and tangled
just like her, at least
      we hope she might
Recognize some of the
dresses, dressed up
just like she
      has always
      been
(a ***** in the making
living in sin)
a march of decades
minus the wedding
rice and the fair and
      going price of a
groom

Poor sullied should have
been bride if not for the
      timing, the misaligned
stars,
a fate not of her making
yet who but she carried the
scars?

June is a month she would
like to sleep through, a long
funeral

as each of her sisters met her
match, down the aisle, disposed
    of, as well they should have  
been but
      this one refused to disappear
this one is
all too present
and what to do
      with this one
here?

(They have already inscribed
her gravestone, she, without
the good manners to make good
on the date) t'is her wedding
      day and finally here

darling don't be late)

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

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

What I wanted
For a home,
This artifice
Bone for
Bone
Thankful
When the creak
Of winter breaks
It's hold and
Thin green
Stems
Hide the broken
Parts
Home

How unwanted like
a wave good-bye a wave
hello, cupped hand of
a beauty queen or a
sailor scanning the
horizon where did
he go?

How unwanted like
hot distilled breath a
wave on my neck knocks
me *** over tete GET
UP GET UP GET
UP you there

Dripping ice and
cold arms full of
regret not me
dripping
wet a fishy
grasp an untamed
gasp of o so clammy
o so breathy death
is this (death)?

How unwanted (finished
dear) tepid pretend tea
party yes! let's have one
let's pour our hearts
out here

You floored me before
I could even get up the
smack of you to fill
my cup let's do it
simply (even) coldly
just one more time
let's

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?

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?)

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

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

The wont of his ways
the stretch of his gaze
as if the compass stare
would snare you or
someone else in
his haze (don't
count anything
don't doubt a single
syllable, I promise you
will be all the more
invisible, your lips
will mean nothing
see (death of love
climbs backward
up a tree WHAT
a beauty)

The Federal Bureau of Death
along with the AMA and your
sainted mother agree that the
sixth most likely way to get
car jacked is to live in Detroit

The Weather People have reported
a massive sigh of relief coming out
of the Midwest and is causing Lake
Effect Remorse

If you live in Detroit you sinply
don't understand

Sometimes I see myself
from above, like in a
surgical theatre (and what
a nice sounding place, like
maybe you might see
some Beckett or even
a musical) but no
only the sound of
bones under a
saw and the light!
is way too bright and
the steel gleams
with a music all
its own
(a speculum
against the side of
a metal bowl, the
chorus of prying
me open from
far away, like
a train passing
caught in a
breeze)

I want to scream but
my words come out
all funny and sprayed
with smiling nurses
overcome by the
sound of suction
(I pass into death once
once more as someone
finally closes the
door)

(I wonder to myself
how long have I had
all of these extra parts
and pieces and how
did they stay in place
me, this jigsaw puzzle
all undone?)

I am under a press that
guides my blood and fat
into a doll with arms and legs
that move (see?) just like
you

I am under a mirror
held in place by thin
and green stems- I fall in
and then out of my cage
of consciousness, like
a braid

I wonder, my slippery words
(are they inside or outside of me?)
WHERE ARE THE FLOWERS?
at the end of the stems
the last word, a gust of a word
smiling nurse hovers close
to my ear (there are)
none

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

I am Hegel I am Rilke
I am a bruise wearing
a shoe I am Castaneda
I am Philip Roth I am
what's for dinner I
am the underside
of you
I am Sybil Sheppard
pretending to be Sartre
while De Beauvoir
pretends to be
vichyssoise on a
spoon
I am your Last Great
Chance left to the seat
of your pants, anonymous
parlez vous anything
(You)
I am a pentimento
the umber of your
umbrage all about
me and (you again)
you
I am the Part Three
of your Part Two the
ever growing closet
of not me a bruise
looking for the toe
of a shoe comment
dites vous *******
just *******

You say such awful things
meant to squash any last bit
of love and have me revel
in hatred
I say add your words
to the ever growing pile
fight it out even, each
of you having your own
specific recipe- how to
hate and when, an army
of stupidity that has
no end
You say my pain is all
wrong, stubbornly denying
the possibility of loving that
sort of man, therefore I should
be able to just move along
I say I would rather be tangled
up in love than take on that
sort of ugly thing, this hatred
you want to throw on me like
a prized possession, keep it
for yourself, hoard it for
the leaner times

you're going to need it

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?

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

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 have decided (and
there is simply no
arguing here) 'if'
is the sexiest word
in the English language
and once unloaded of
its baggage and all of
those maddening
contingencies, 'if' is
like two legs dancing
around in a striptease
'if' is the most lewd,
the most suggestive
thing on two legs,
one letter leaning
against the other,
the most beautiful
***** you have ever
seen, standing on
a street corner
the 'i' buck naked while
the 'f' blandly looks
away (yes, too often
the 'i' is an embarrassing
display)
the 'f'  staggers
under its own sort
of weight, having
lent itself to 'u' and  
the beginning of 'fu' 'fu'
'fu' you (but you are
already stuck now
aren't you?)
pay the 'i' up front
while the 'f' crooks
a finger and you
can do nothing
but obey this is
why the 'i' so often
breaks itself in two
always too much
but never quite
enough, without
the 'f' nothing
absolutely nothing
will do

From a child's angle
all lessons come from
above; and the lifted
chins with eyes empty
in search of truth-
whence comes that
whirling dervish
of a thing, whence
comes all lessons
in love

Perhaps this is seed
and the source,
to believe love is
something to look
up at, while those
trusting eyes that
encourage lies
only reinforce
the curse

And then next there
was Santa Claus, who
expressed his love in
in more solid gifts
and another lesson
yet to learn- if you
hate what Santa
brought your ***
shut the **** up
and move on

We had mixed
reality we had
too many pairs
of feet running
through the
alleyway we
done been
had that
(gimme)
arranging pebbles
we pretend are
pretty you
and me had
swinging arms
held hands stared
up through the
beetle chewed
leaves gossamer
when the sun
winked we had
the **** and
Jane of it the
Spot and Kitten
and a sedan
smack full
of it see?
we were too
brutal to run
around unarmed
(pretty pebbles
all at once
OW) we had
life! by the
ears dropped
on our heads
mother worry
don't pay the
rent we knew
everything and
worse except
each other
saving that
big hurt
for later

The only thing missing
is a sore **** feeling,
a vague sense of
unwholesomeness,
and an unusually
urgent desire to
be alone

I prefer the honesty
of a good alley mugging
rather than these missing
moments stretched into
long hours of doubt

Never mind the endless
work of you figuring me
figuring you out

Was me, was you,
was too dark to tell?

Loves me, hates me
and which one of us
in this given month
is clearly going to
hell?

The men who have been
so big on honesty, well
they sure did lie a lot
and the sorting out of truth
from lies and the constant
refrain of I Forgot?

Frankly all of that
has left me cold and
the obtuse angle of your
constant accusations?
that too got awfully old

As I am dear- awful
and old

I have made a
totem out of
pure want out
of the empty
extended hand
as if my veins
and sinew
are knit
together,
two long and
awful strands
my bones
are the needles
that hold this
thing together
(knit one,
perl one
I am one
dropped stitch
after another)
ha! a sweater
with no holes
for arms or
hands and
not even for
my head
I've sewn myself
together, a straight
jacket and the meat
of me, one long
and continuous
dread

Hey there you,
I have got
something (three
guesses) it is
something I bring
on the tips of
my toes,
whispering feet,
as I drop all
of my clothes
(Hey
there you!) my slip
slides slippery, lets
dear (let us suppose
it is in my heart
where all of this
love grows) all
about you I
oops! slides
past me again
and Oblivion
is a big pink
rose a slidey
slippery
bride- I am
married! to
what you
made me (and
dear please
make me)
anything

For those who say
the way to perfect love
is to trust and let go
of everything
and you can't love
fully unless you
put your whole heart
into it
that love is a risk
in each case and
nothing ventured
is nothing gained?
The aftermath is
anything but romantic
dontcha think?

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

tis your fate
lick it off a plate
proffered to you
under the table
and between
your knees
(love comes in at
at the eye and
quickly
heads south
you see)
you there, you
with the mouth
pretty please
open wide
and guide a fella
straight inside
(love saves the
day, not yours but
someone's)
anyway

"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.)"

I've been lucky in love
and always had my pick
but when they ask me
what "does the trick"?
how can I tell
any one of them
that what I've always
preferred is ugly
men?

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

A reprise a reprise
another slip slip knot
for these eyes to
memorize how to
undo the sort of thing
you likely will want
undone
A way out, a foot in
the door, no, I have
no intention of falling
into all of that no
matter how appealing
no matter what lack
of feeling (she does it
with her eyes shut
backing into that
snug happy corner
and all of that crap)
A reprise, a gouge
another cut on top
of the old familiar cut
a scar of a scar of a scar
NOT HERE NO, not
in this jar
(She says she says
I am not a potpourri
you can not seal my essence
in and then let go of me)
I have no shelf life no
time to consume go
and check the date
baby you are *******
years too late

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

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

O, now yes I feel the sun
on my skin and even, o,
now yes I feel the sun
on my lids (someone
has opened up the blind)
There is tea by my head
a lovely feeling here
in my bed and for
the first time (ever?)
I do not even question
it, not any of it

The ghost who attends
me has run off with tiny
footfalls, left me with love
and no feeling of loss or
dread or ruin (how clever
to leave me this instead!
how sweet and who knows
what brought me to my feet?
I dangle them over the side
of the bed, sitting upright)
I am wearing a cotton gown
that engulfs me even as
it frees me I am on a eight
hundred thread count cloud!

I think I might even, yes
put some weight on these
toes, test them out, maybe
run a few laps to the kitchen
and back (they work!)

I love you!

While I do not believe
in god I do believe in
attending angels

What luxury!  what a
lavish gift! to wake up
alive like this

He gave me a lovely shell
shiny with abalone which
I promptly likened to a
shovel
He gave me a stunning
silk cape which I turned into
a winding cloth
When he presented me
with a brilliant green box
carved from the rarest jade
I thanked him for the
fancy sarcophagus

He showered me with love
so unrelenting it poured
down more sodden then
his tears
And his hundred adoring
glances?
I told him they were like
like the worms that will
one day live in my
bones

Today he brought me
a massive bunch of plump
white roses and from behind
them I heard him say, well
I guess these can be your
funeral wreath-
I sighed and waved him
away

Really, darling, must you
always be so *******
morbid?

It is in the garden of decay
where I learned about life
and how tenacious it is
no matter what the species
for example my brother
barely human by now
life lessons learned on
the back of death and
I think of a bumper sticker
I once saw, "Hard to ****"
No doubt yet being half
dead is an acquired skill

In a word, he is an atrocity

But consider this:
back to my garden where
miracles bloom even in
the stone cold of winter
A root has climbed around
A cocktail glass I sent sailing
in a fit of rage, in the dewy
promise of spring no less
and while hate raged in
the kitchen these two
singularly hopeless and
ugly broken things formed
a union that even throwing
more glasses at cannot tear
assunder

Well, tear ME assunder
why don'tcha?

Nope, being such a *****
has lost me that honor

Sincerely, Hard to ****

Misses Missedherchance wakes up and
looks at herself in her tiny mirror (she
only wants to see herself in chunks,
taking some of the brunt away from
her sour assessment) she tells herself
"today I am **** ugly" and commences
the project of taking care of that, fixing
all of the holes and vacant places that
somehow got filled in with opportunistic
and mercenary forces while she slept
the sleep of a dead person
Misses Missedherchance wants to get
DOLLED UP, to show her walls, all
all of them, what a beauty she can be
when she's up to it, when she feels
there is a PURPOSE, and she waltzes
through the living room and
the living room walls whistle
just like a group of bricklayers
and she waltzes through the eat-in
kitchen (always hated those words,
"breakfast nook") and the walls
sing back to her in Spanish,
call her "Flaca" and she giggles
She is afraid to venture upstairs
to the bedroom because, well,
lets just say the bedroom
is a bit more critical, a bit
harder to please and she
makes a note to herself
to try and do something
about that one of
these days

Of all the really dubious decisions
(and this is the only one we know
about, knowing nothing about
much of anything)
Mother hatched us barely three
or so yards from the swoosh of
the interstate- and not one of those
two lane chicken **** things where
nicotine addicted deer meander
freely, shooting the breeze and
chewing on a fresh **** tossed
from a window into a nice morning
like this
Mother saw fit to hollow out
a capricious tunnel sort of thing
under a pile of god knows what
(and god knows even less
than we do)
Was she fooled by all the greenery
or was she just plain pooped,
too tired to find a decent tree
like any decent mother
would do?
Somehow this eight lane
truck route seemed ideal
even as we are thrown back
and forth by unnatural winds
and great heaving gusts of
gasoline and diesel, where
one errant breeze is sure
and shrill death
We are a soot covered clutch
that even mother love cannot rescue
(not that we know anything about
that) "What you don't know won't
hurt you" she was wont to sing
hinting at the ones that came
before us and the ones that
will surely follow
The crows gather at dusk and we
can almost hear their bone crunching
laughter and the buzzards do lazy
fly-overs, no one is in any special
hurry under this layer of traffic,
the constant bleak black motion
There is no appealing to the bird kind
in any of them, that we would compare
our lot in life is an act of desperation
you see, because Mother held life
lessons in her grip with the mercenary
coolness of one who doesn't waste
even a moment of joy on those
not meant to live long enough
to appreciate it

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

I don't see
how else I could see you
from the top of your head
to the ends of your toes
knees swaying between us
you hold yourself quite
frozen in that pose (sad
to think you do this for me
while I would prefer you
to pull yourself together
at least to your full height)
I don't know
maybe I wouldn't even
recognize you, straight
in the face
(like that)

When last I decided
to make an end of it
and gather the bits
the pieces that gave
meaning to all of this-
the blooms pressed
in between the pages
of meaningful verse
the letters that undid
each and every curse
When last I decided
to let go of this madness
I wondered how much
love I had in reserve
and how much I could
finally squander
To let go of loves won
and lost, to cash in
the sum total of my
idiocy
This is what will feather
my coffin, blessed, as I
am foisted into
eternity

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

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)

What is left
of me here,
well, I saved it
for you my dear
in the tiny bowl
of my hands,
loose so as not
to **** it, with
fingers caged
close enough
to not spill it;
I feel the wings
beat frantically
against my palms
what sorry words
can I tell my heart
when all words
have gone?

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