Sometimes, through thy mockery,
you become, perhaps in absolute value,
just as distasteful as thy muse.

A joke is a joke,
but it sometimes
reflects a Mind
that is,
shall we say,
disedified.

Why did you go there,
A friend told me  you'd come.
I felt fine before then.
After I knew
Couldn't relate
Couldn't concentrate
Had to leave.
Had to go home
Wait by the phone
That call that won't come
I'm giving you your space
Why not give me mine.
If we were still---
You would say
Let's stay in
I'm tired
But now that we're--
You go
You don't care you don't care
I stayed awake all night in a
Bad state of Mind
Wanting to fight wanting to make it right wanting to be
Out of sight
Wanting to die
Sigh
I couldn't even cry
I saw that picture
Posted
Of you looking
So *******
                         Happy.
I want you to be--
I want
I want
I want
You back
I want you back
I want
You.

it sits outside my window now
like and old woman going to market;
it sits and watches me,
it sweats nevously
through wire and fog and dog-bark
until suddenly
I slam the screen with a newspaper
like slapping at a fly
and you could hear the scream
over this plain city,
and then it left.

the way to end a poem
like this
is to become suddenly
quiet.

470

I am alive—I guess—
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory—
And at my finger’s end—

The Carmine—tingles warm—
And if I hold a Glass
Across my Mouth—it blurs it—
Physician’s—proof of Breath—

I am alive—because
I am not in a Room—
The Parlor—Commonly—it is—
So Visitors may come—

And lean—and view it sidewise—
And add “How cold—it grew”—
And “Was it conscious—when it stepped
In Immortality?”

I am alive—because
I do not own a House—
Entitled to myself—precise—
And fitting no one else—

And marked my Girlhood’s name—
So Visitors may know
Which Door is mine—and not

Yesterday I woke up
With the first rays of the sun.
A condemned spirit
Haunting my own bed.

I lay, thinking of yours;
Soft like the skin
I used to press
Against my own.

I fantasize
Of laying there again
Whispering the things
I was once afraid to say.

And you would hold me
A cosmic oneness,
Two loving souls,
A golden energy.

All hurt would dissipate,
A bad dream fading.
Your eyes gazing to me
A small brown dot in green.

I would caress,
Tickle you softly
Together we would find
All things to be okay.

But--the sun creeps in
Reality harshly follows.
My bed is rough
My pillows, like rocks.