Do put yourself
down, dear
The one thing you're
good at.

when she was eight years old
she
asked her mother
have you seen the girl with
lashes like butterflies against sharp cheekbone branches?
a dandelion sprouting from sludge covered gutters and streets
streets, where you feel that bitter bland nothingness in your stomach

it feels buttery to stare at her:
see how snow outstretches arms and twirls tippy toes, envies her grace
see how balloon sized raindrops pop, target the freckles on her arm
see how her forehead crinkles when she concentrates, nothing more than a beacon
proclaiming she trickles with stars

when she was eight years old
her parent's violent protests slipped bruises under her skin like pennies in a coin slot
but they could not contain the celestial girl tucked under her ribcage.

she would still look at her like she was the breakfast sun on a saturday
whistling by the creak, catching glimpses of dresses from behind the legs of trees.
see how this is special love, sweet as strawberry fields under soft sun
they would never feel on their forked, sour tongues

She has a heart that beats like the constant rolling of the waves
That kicks against her mother’s chest as to always assure her
“I am here, Mom”
Her mother hears,
while stretching out her swollen legs in the bath.

She has bones as fragile as a rose stem
Her eyes drooping like petals
She plucks her mother’s breast
With her sleepy mouth as to always assure her
“I need you, Mom”

She touches the buds
of her blossoming fingers to her mother’s heart,
stumbles with her pudgy little legs,
teeters, slips, crashes down to the floor
And still manages to avoid the cracks in the
Pavement,
on her mother’s aching back
As if to assure her
“I love you, Mom”

Don't really care
for your car
Or the blue sail
on your boat
I just wish for one 
with a nice winter coat
dark navy blue sky
dark grey clouds eyes

Bathing in the sun
for New Year's
Happy Lucky Love
and then you really
with her at the bar
Unrealistically courteous
approachable even
So, ran out wouldn't
be the first time
So, bumped my head
neither a first
You didn't look
follow hence pushed me
away for a happy new year

what sound do you make
when your bones hit the floor?
heavy like the noise
of a slamming door.
light as a bird, bones do sound
soft as whispered words.

when they are ripped
from your body, a little,
you’ll look pretty and brittle
and breakable; little china doll,
I advise you not to fall.

tapping on bones, like sticks,
little drummer boys
make a war cry noise.
the battlefield is invisible
until it’s not, and your skin prickles.

fingers, bony spiders, crawl
hurting, tearing it all.
barren like a desert
the bones do seem
bleached and white,
like a mother that weeps.

gravestone bones like little dancers.
strong as milk, shatter army advances
in you; they sabotage you,
then they try to break through
and crack and bend.
they’ll be out!
they’ll be much better then-

but your body, made of jelly
misses the commensalism.
bones, they create a schism
between mind and body.
they’re ever so naughty.

Right side up, she's
a real catch, if
you can catch
her
Upside down, she
will make the moon
and the stars and
even the sun fall
in love with her
shadow
as it scatters and
so do the stars,
yup
Rolling down
a hill, you will
want to follow
but it's silly
but it doesn't
matter so you will
you will
anyway
Dancing in place
she will convince
you it is a circle
yes she will
as you twirl
behind her
Lying down next
to her you will
swear she is
taller than the
trees
and she is and
even taller
And she takes you
swimming with
the breeze, the
cool breeze
and you are happy
but you don't
know why and
you are sad
but
you don't know why
you just are and
so is
she

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you

I haven't had my heart broken.
But I have thrown it against another person
and broke it myself.

He would've looked handsome in wedding photos,
but even more in a suit and tie
on the other side of the divorce court.

He would roll up his sleeves like a lawyer.
He would say things like:
You ruined my life when you got pregnant.

As if babies were something a woman conjured inside
herself out of lovesickness and desperation.
A snare in which to trap a man like him.

But instead I broke myself on him like surf on the ramparts.
I foamed and spat and washed myself right back
out to sea again.

And all I have is a notch on my map, marking
a shallow harbor,
a few torn sails
and an empty womb.