You offered me your body,
I offered in return:

A tuna fish sandwich,
A nice piece of carnelian,
Maybe a book or two about odd things
like death by electrocution or Leonardo da Vinci
or the history of the upright bass,
Endless records,
Enough jazz to paint the world blue,
My mouth forming the shapes of notes,
A breath from my own lungs,
The scarf which was lovingly knit for me
by my one remaining friend,
Lipstick, bright red and smooth,
Feathers from a hawk that I found by the road,
Dried pink roses from a corsage,
Two baby teeth in a container that once held film,
Hair shorn with a dull kitchen knife,
A collar of cracked burgundy leather,
Sachets smelling faintly of lavender,
A mirror which was cracked on my thirteenth birthday,
One lace glove.

Why did you leave?

• College is hard.**

And that’s the list of things they don’t tell you in College.

I have your name written down on a note in my phone.
It's on a list of the boys that I've slept with.
I don't need photographs to remember you by,
because I have strong memories of how our skin touched so closely.
You contaminated my mind with false ideas of who we were.
When we were together, were we even together?
Perhaps we were only sleeping together.
It's uncomfortable how you left me so easily.
As if I meant nothing to you at all. Maybe that's just how it is.
But if we're being real, and true ,and honest,
I suppose you're really just a name
written down on a note in my phone,
on a list of the boys that I've slept with.

I just want five hundred grand
Is that too much for me to ask?
It is a lot. Probably too much.
But I am prepared for the task
Of spending that much dough.
I have it completely planned out.
I know where every dollar goes.
It’s all over but the last shout.

Right away, I want a house
And a decent one here on Kauai.
I also want a brand new truck
For my husband to drive and try.
I also have a few trips to plan
Like floating down the Rhine
And then up by train to Denali
That would suit us both just fine.

That ought to do it, I believe;
A secure home all paid for
And decent new cars for us
And a world out there to explore.
That should spend that money
And have a bit of change left over.
Satisfying the homebody I am
And the man I married is a rover.

I am very willing to write a book
And have it sell a million copies.
I have several started and am sure
They would each be a hit in shoppes.
There can be about eight books
Carefully edited by me, for sure
Those alone should make my rep.
That would be my poverty cure.

1) It echoes of slumber, dragging the bedsheets with its claws. Beckoning lips to the day.

2) It listens to the grumble seeping from its cracks. It is awake.

3) Turn the dial, let the beast face the fire.

4) I hear it roar, alarm clocks are broken, replacements have been found.

5) The gurgle leaves the chamber, the ceramic has grown sick. Regurgitate, regurgitate.

6) I remember a song... “Tip me over and pour me out.”

7) It flies up, cradling the slumber napping beneath the lids, pin them open til midday.

8) Soot crumbles to the bottom, the muddy cliffs have divulged.

9) Stinging nettle of magma, scaling down the cliffs, fog rolls over its hills.

10) I am short. The beast shall not face me this day. I would lose the battle.

11) The buzz of the alarm clock is obsolete. *** rush the front door. Your tie is loose.

12) Speedy escapades, a slosh of regret, the white shirt is defeated.

13) It went off to bed, down the silver basin. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Or perhaps the midday shall awaken me.

Stop.
Breathe.
Go for a drive.
See.
Admire.
Pray.
Ponder.
Sing.
Dance.
Be spontaneous.
Trust.
Surrender.
Release.
Hope.
Love.
Pause.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Live.

2AM
Bedroom door
Dim lights
Squeaky stairs
White noise
Television
Silhouette
Tick-tock clock
Kitchen knife
Red blood stains
Sweaty palms
Strawberry jam
Wheat grain sandwich
Midnight snack