standing at the start,
the end for some others

take the first step,
then take another

that's it,
sit
spend some time here,
nothing to fear here,
lie down, but
stand,
keep moving, and

look around,
you are bound
to be late
and
right on time, too,
so, slow down, you
know,
the view is great
on both sides

And afterward,
I gather the roses at my feet,
white petals fall, splatter the stage

I lift each stem to my lips
with haste
They cheer,
but I do not fear the bite,
the taste--
earthy, metallic,
sharp.

I smile at their applause, my funny heartbeat,
while slow lines of blood slide
over my lips, drip
down my chin,
juice from a ripe peach,
dropping
onto soft white petals

I used to go
swallowing matches
filling up on lightbulbs,
light lunches

second degree burns
through my throat, I
coughed up blood,
splintered glass, ash

but the moths in my stomach,
they loved it, you see,
flitted around just for a glimpse,
a tiny ray,
until
blood-soaked wings
stopped
sinking insects
dropped

"good morning" every morning
and a warm smile,
a wistful sigh sometimes

unsettlingly deep
sweetly intense
dark and gleaming brown eyes
looking toward me, for me
again and again and again

he said my smile was like
a spring morning

and i was afraid,
aggravatingly afraid

cold and bemused
careful blue eyes
looking away and away
and away

The tide rushes over her body,
and I feel it.
She starts to sink and suction
into wet sand, and
I feel it.
Anchored in,
barely breathing, but
I feel it
all.

Finally.

I recall my hands upon the earth:
Delicate, squeaky blades of grass,
soft, dry dirt beneath.
I dug in,
dark crests of that which supports life
beneath my fingernails,
earth contained
within clenched fists.

Not sleeping through the night.
I keep waking,
my stakes in this **** thing are high.
He sleeps through it all: the turning,
gasping, box spring
squeaking.