the only way we speak truths is through fridge poems,
the height of our vulnerability in
pre-written words,
mass produced magnets
holding together what's left of
you and me.

she does not mince her words
she draws out truths like my mother
used to comb out tangles,
those matted knots of wishy-washy
dishonesty,
self-trickery.
she puts me in a taxi and
kisses my forehead,
i want to tell her, a little
lower,
her silhouette in the
spring light, too cold for
bare shoulders,
see this heart
on my sleeve
i wore for you?

i am the killer of my
future, the cold-blooded
executioner of my own dreams.
i feel relief wash over
tired eyes when the
knife wound weeps.
a mercy killing when i'm
being honest, not a hunter,
not a coward,
just brave enough to
accept
a misstep,
miscalculation,
the familiar embrace
of an ex-lover.

we are so strange we keep
saying, goodmorning,
blinking against winter
cold sunshine,
do we say
please and
thank you trace
patterns in my
skin
once again?

crossed-legged, my
willow boughs, unsteady
fawn on my feet, graceless,
undeniably
tasteless,
grey matter
formed less.

spilled polish on the *****
carpet, china glaze, liquid
leather, among eyeshadow bruises,
shimmering blue.

i’m scrubbing at the
stain in the ****
in my dreams, hot
tears soil the blemish, i
wake up to the smell of
pure turpentine
scouring my nail beds,
in sunday school they
say discipline
is love. i learn not
to know
discipline from control.

tugging at those
ragged pieces,
brightly patterned
second-hand
vanity
to cover my shame
/guilt
/doubt
/resentment,
he says
you have to (have a) change
(of heart.)

he maligns me, my
mouth rinsed with
soap and holy water,
cleanse the spirits from my
daughter,
praises when she hides.
my soft lips recite
repentances,
indoctrinated
phrases.

o, be careful little
heart whom you trust,
o, be careful what you hear –
the cruel irony of
these words letting others
undress me, lay me
bare, to waste.

i loved you with
open hands, hungry
hands, i don’t have much time
hands. the cure to preemptive
homesickness was belly-ache
laughing, bare skin on
muddy ghost river
beaches, watching court
foot traffic from the
roof, labatt blues
and t-pain.
you said cats have
the love we should
emulate, walking
fine lines, felines
assuming we have
nine lives, greedy
hands strangle the
love from me.