from misty stupor

faceless sentinels are roused

absinthian rev’ries

maybe he left his wedding ring in your **** by accident


that night when you told me
you wanted me to *******
wearing his sordid black suit but  
it was about four sizes too big and his
heart was four rooms too small.

i forget that the anthropoid chassis
possessed no ****** limitations.  

and yet you were there,
wailing out cherries and
casuistry and swollen
macabre in absinthian
vinegar,  wearing the dress
that i hate.

you have weak wrists,  
you bruise by blue tuesdays.


--


maybe i left my gun in your **** by accident

that night when you told me
only love and explosives
got you off. i of course, went
for the least dangerous.

you forget that the anthropoid intellect
possessed no sadistic co-existence.

i'm just an ulcer when i am
inside you.  you scratch me raw
and you make me
take off that face
that you hate.  

my poetry lingers tight-lipped in taciturnity,  
keeping you wet on your deathbed.

This is a poem for the anger
I keep coiled around my ribs
Because I was taught that anger is an absinthian poison
That will rise like bile in the throat and must be swallowed.
And I realize you may read this
And you may be angry
But I realize with each crunch of bone
I must give myself the space
To uncoil in this way.

I am angry
That you made me a captive reservoir
for the bitter droughts you refused to drink yourself.
You were iron-stomached after years of punches,
that I understood.
Open handed, I wanted to be the exception
But holy palmer’s kiss
Was still not enough to let me cross the threshold.
You are the locked room in the house that the children are forbidden
Only small glimpses between hinges
Of your fear poisoned self
Huddled in a corner, vomiting apologies.

I am angry
for believing I could have lain beside you
every night for the rest of my life
And not starved to death from loneliness.

I am angry
for ignoring how I dimmed each time I waited for you
to want me, to miss me, to think of me,
to ask me to come into your arms,
to find me fascinating, enchanting
to tell me you needed me;
to betray anything that proved I was more than convenience,
A drink that served itself on a silver platter,
Asking to be drunk.
If you only knew how luminous I could be
when loved well.


I am angry
That I still hope you will be waiting by my door after work
because you realized how you starved me
And now you’ve set a banqueting table, a banner over me is love
But I know you will never do this.
I know you cannot do this.
I am angry
that I miss only the space you left,
That I have not yet been able to close the gap
And walk away from your memory.