Just a few more

Let Them Eat Forms

In the beginning I was young
but wise enough to know
if i allowed those certain fantasies
to assume form and gain attributes
he would see them behind my eyes
and feel it below every word
and so build a new wall.
Thus I commanded all dreams to surrender
shape or definition, the better to keep
my love with me. they suffered, those
mists of thought, those wonderments,
and cried to me in the quietest moments.
i did not give voice to regret but once,
when the door opened, i did not think
but went through it. bitter was
that threshold, bitter the smell and
taste of the air. bitter the water he
gave me to drink. but o i was thirsty,
and i did drink deep. and then spoke
the words, released my subjects
from long woeful rule. then i stood
and waited for the dusted soot-caked
streets to dance and sing, waited for
my visions to come to life and all-a-glow,
first one small shadow then scores,
the shapes perhaps of leaves under sun
over grass, or a distant flock of birds,
surrounding me, shading my confusion
and whisper now that i must tell them
what is their shape, and i must tell them what
is their color, and i must tell them, i must
tell them, what is their weight, what is their
place, i must tell them . . . i must tell them
we all just have to wait and see.



If the Shoe Don't Fit . . . (don't fuckin wear it.)

so i try to see us standing
up in all the trumped up tropes
of finery, the tuxedo with tie
too tight, dress tied round
the tits, hair upswept and
waxed and curled, trying not
to sweat, repeating the words
read out by a faceless,
faithless entity, while in neat
rows everyone we know pretends
to be respectable and polite society,
also uncomfortable in their
dustiest best, children escorted
by embarassed adults out a back
door to run in long darkened
hallways, and then a gesture
of party, a ghost of ancient
feasting accompanied by non offensive
and unintrusive strangling musical
whispers and i just can't
make the ivory white high heels
fit my fucking flinstone feet.