I have had ideas, many times; I have had anger at all the world And its plates and cups and knives and forks And pots and pans.
I have used coffee scrub, up To my elbows And sugar scrub on my face.
I have stood over rose beds With my legs far apart And bled colour to the world below, Trailing my hell along behind me.
I have had bitter blandness Blanch the back Of my throat and the roof of my mouth Until all that was left was bleach.
I have held glass bottles to the sky Waiting for thunderstorms.
I have whispered my love to the palm of your hand, Then watched it drain out through the cracks into sand.
But still I will eat All my meals out of teacups/ I will let my blemished body be/ I will smell every flower Growing along the side of a drain/ I will gargle before bed With pinecone and cherry grain/ I will watch Outside my window for hail/ I will whisper other things to you Until the end Of time Or tomorrow -- Whichever comes first -- and hope that inspiration strikes.