all i want
is to read the braille
that is written on
your skin
when my fingertips
leave trails
of goosebumps

you say it
another
time in
the kitchen;
then
i say it
with coffee
in the evening.
we sit,
quietly,
together
at the end
of day —
maybe you
watch a film;
my feet
at your
lap; i open
an old book
... and there
it is again.

Oh, it is awfully high from up here –
a power surge, the slit of my skirt intentionally ripped
and yet no one wants the slightest peek.

The man I love must be entwined in the pleats
or is watching the carnival children with more interest
than he has in creating normal infants with me.

Am I not a woman, not fertile?
But my concern is for a bloodied male –
intestines escaping from an abdomen like his coins.

He has been robbed as I have, an empty wallet
while I have an uninhibited ****.
We whirl alone on the ferris wheel and want to get ill.

For when the ride halts, I could climb the
parachute and die with that defeated man on the side –
just not quick enough to be wanted like a carnie.

Becoming an atypical sort of sideshow,
write wishes with a ride’s ***** on my arm, a lovenote
leave with someone whose faith in which I restore.

it would be lovely to let go,
unfold this scrap of paper
in my backpocket and watch
the red penciled heart
grow wings and take flight
up over these empty acres
blanketed in snow,
through this city with it's
blur of white and yellow lights
burning without break.

in my hand is the lovenote
you left me with, without knowing,
the words you wrote about stars
and the sky and growing old,
the note about life and a love
not as transient as the one
you carry in your heart for me.
in my hand are these words and as
I unfold them I can feel your heart
lifting
up away
from our city and me.

There’s nothing much more to remember
but the starlight
although I felt enough courage
to write a wild letter recalling shadows

when the sea collapsed
I bore the mockery
my mind full of color
continued its descent
past the debris and with such longing

What I had composed
was a rather short letter
a note really
intense and scrupulous
my imagination, free
I addressed you with my instincts
and asked you how you were

I imagined you, seated at the piano
repulsing criticisms and questions
Outside the wind, guilty
has no manners
curling petals
and is a great deal louder
although it doesn’t care about the color

I was in an agony
as I sensed your dismal laughter
What will I do
when danger comes?

there is nothing sweet about disguise
there's only that distracted surprise
at the blue and yellow hue
of bruises around my heart
tears burn as chillies do
my stomach chewed up
like the bubblegum you used
to stick that lovenote to the wall
the heat of summer made it fall
so you stuck it under my desk
but wood burns, you know,
nails rust and memories turn to dust
and oh! there comes a little wind
and there you go, unpinned.