My hands died slowly,
with blood vessels surrendering
to the chill.  They turned grey, yellow, lavender,
dusky. Dusky, like the sun had been setting
for hours and I only just realized it.
Pills made them pink again,
but I can’t help but notice
you flex your fingers after we shake.
A cold grip doesn’t suit you

yet. Gloves on, or else I’ll hold the
palm over a light bulb in the bathroom
before running it along his spine.
Blood thinned out to
water, bouquets of nerve

endings wilted.  I lost a piece
of each pinky promise, the weight
of a wedding-band.  Flipping the bird
at the catcallers carries one joint less
meaning, and I have trouble
getting to the point. As I
brush my thumb along my lover’s
wrist, back and forth and back
and forth, I only feel the holes.

Eureka
My thanks to the man who tasted
cyanide and voiced his last Eureka.
“Almonds”
To the man who saw dragons
to be slayed with pen and sword
in windmills.
To the Danish Prince who said
“What a piece of work is man.”
Well, man’s a piece of work alright.

Did you ever think about how
men wear their ovaries on the outside?
Or how you can always win arguments with yourself
in the shower?
My boyfriend traces the edge
of my chewed nails as he asks
me what I am thinking about.

I’m thinking about the consistency of jellyfish
and how it compares to human brains
and the taste of nectarines, overripened
drawing fruitflies to picnic tables.
Maybe I see colors differently
and will never know that my blues
are only a midnight shadow of what they
could be and if I’ve never truly seen the color red.

And how after nineteen years
I still can’t tell if I’m a good person
or just faking really well.
And if that Chinese Emperor
who strapped rockets to his thrown
to find dragons
ever found any.
Did the chicken getting crushed while crossing
the road get him to the other side.
If I died young, could I motivate people
to be nicer to each other?
When did my grandmother die
and when can I ask my mother without her
crying?  There was a little girls skeleton
found next to her donkey in the ancient ruins
of an earthquake. There were several
different species of human alive at the same time
and my favorite color isn’t really blue
And I’m really glad I couldn’t ****
myself when I was 13 because I tasted
my first plum last week.  AND FOR THE LOVE
OF GOD
WHAT
AM
I DOING
WITH
MY
LIFE.
My happy moments will always outweigh the bad
And are my ***** uneven because
when I look down—
What are you thinking about?
Almonds.  They
taste like cyanide.