The night's liar heat outside my window
Do I dare ignore
The steam, clings on the outside
Avoiding this requires doing it once more

//I’ve rehearsed this countless times
well yeah I know shame alone
and each time feigns closer to something more
shame and pleasure all the same//

The steamy air is turbid exhale scary
And does not alleviate my sweat but I'm alright
I don't worry if my hands will slip
Satisfied I’ve done my job

//you’re spread right out all on the floor
strangely posed and spilling you’re calling me silent
now I'm alone and I want more
you’re my spilled drink and I want more//

I've rehearsed this countless times
And each a little closer and yet harder to clean up my mess
Before sunrise again again
Pretty soon they'll know

/again again pleasureshame
petty sunrise again again
each red time closer all the same
They are going to know./

Do you realize what you’ve done you have
conquered fear of the darkness so all there
is is bright light, you’ve drowned out all the
solemn hymns and prayers there is no need
to pray now, no need to weep or question or
wonder really, the monster under the bed is
gone, the house vacant, all the delusions are
cauterized and pacified and put away with the
summer, soft as a shadow, gone and put away
and canceled out and neutralized, there is no
need to call out to mother anymore, there is no
anchor, there is no question, all has been
answered and now not needed

after supper rent a box of matches and light them one by one on the stoop, catch the air on the edge of the corner of the paper the day was painted on, a glitch

catch the night on runways of pale red dots, embryos of magnesium that burn bright and hot and overwhelming beneath greasy live wires dipping dangerously low in the road

5 or so best days in a year and
this is number five; is it not
mundane you say you don’t
look both ways, I pretend not
to want to either to shed
the child’s hesitation

we cross the street and play
the chiaroscuro keyboard of
cobblestones and garbage in
the tomb of shy light beneath the
last great green of the year

I look back half expecting to
see myself on the
other side still palsied gazing
upwards a stillborn spectator
trying to catch a dying cloud

monday
the midday is about as filled with stars
as people that I think I might care about
but the brightest Venus
can still be seen if I try
coming up on the next episode: bet if I do

leave before I change my mind
leave complete; do not leave yourself behind
that's the worst thing you could do
and neither I nor you would forgive you

If I could get out of bed,
I would
If I could enjoy my meal
I would

I should, I tell myself
I should.

If I could write about things
that Other People talk about
I would
Things that win little red ribbons
and sit framed on walls in offices
Things that get into books on shelves
Things that make Other People
applaud
Things that no one is afraid of
Things that don’t make little kids cry
Hell, I wish I could

I really, really should

Instead I choose to hold myself
down and confess my
mediocre feelings that
don’t make much sense when read
but so much more when written;
weird india ink discharges
Ill thoughts
Shards of neurosis
And no one would care to enjoy it

But to confess one final word,
I’d always hoped that of course no one
would.