My* Monday blues they
start with you.
I am amused I'm not
moved, I
may be reused it is
the day before
Tuesday
I choose blue before
muse I must
stay in my own shoes
I clutch fists it is
no use I trust
come ups from cruel while we
lust what is proof-less
is seemingly useless
I
rust like the useless
like metal, like bruises
so quit acting clueless
I've dropped more than clues and
now I must move for
I cannot keep chewing all of your
lies up for you

it is when I sit with
beautiful things
I am reminded that
nothing ever keeps;
the words might smear or
the air should dampen
and if
you should not believe me
ask the flower what it is like for her
at nighttime and then
ask her to repeat it
explain to her
what it is like to be
lived in

hold me down to the
stage;
today
I cannot make pretty songs of us
like
how much I weigh
I'm one hundred and thirty three pounds
in love with you
I'm
twenty eight years too old and
twenty eight years away from your legs
I'm
blonde
I'm
a lady
a waiting woman
making food,
away from your mouth
I'm making
mistake after distaste for
this pattern this
extra pace for shapes that
never fit us so
when I get dressed and when I
detest it I'm
trying something new I'm
having
nothing to do with you

I'm speaking in
leaves and with dirt against
trying to sleep
repeating the hot hum of heartache
& stopping to breathe
I have been
inside & under
this horrible robe /
its ropes tied too close &
I'm starting to choke /
breaking-down wine & the whys to find
fumbling's curse
repetitive lure-slurring prose
in my own faulted purse
this is a
tree and then paper
a bird and now blood
& all of the bones you've swept up
love,
stick out of the rug

while I chase the sunshine
& clouds framing the
shape of your mouth like
who am I to think she can fly or
get that high
but it's Sunday.
I am
asking the air a favor
that your thinnest shirt might
remind you of me
that the next time you run
the sun could burn you some
that we might get a drink and
blink a thousand times in a bar
is nonsense
is
weekend news
like a shovel to help make your pretty bed
call me your
friend and
tell her yes
wake up again and against it
ask me
if I am
in love

I tried to trace our shadows
left and right from the wrists
but l'm pacing
back and forth I'm
waiting
waving you in.
rearranging my mornings
adjusting my sighs on you
so they sit right on my feet
so I can say love and take it
we
belittle forgiveness
you made the sea find its way through
my throat
you took sentence after sentence from my hair
& burned a beautiful mouth
turn my hands to rust
my body to weeds
and anyway
fate is for the birds
it's seems
when the bats start biting