week of waiting.

bathroom faucet

as a child i spent
a great deal of time
gazing raptly at the
cast iron spigot
pocked and flecked along
the length, ringed
with the built up
rock that could someday,
maybe become stalagmites.
riveted to the spot
i would observe the
gathering condensation
growing fatter until
the suspended crystal
shaped round, magnified
and contained the
universe before its
imagined arms gave way
and it fell screaming
into the basin
to shatter and splash
to bits and then
my tiny eyes would
travel back up to the
moss-lined cave to
observe the conception
of the next to fall.



before a drop

the moment before
a drop of liquid falls
is it angry? frustrated
at dangling in endless
suspension, just at
the point of gravity,
feeling the swelling
that means it must
be soon; feeling its
roots pulling stretched
thread by thread,
disentangling as the ends
are dragged mercilessly
are there others behind
adding voices of encouragement,
adding to the frustrating
impatience of the moment?
the agony of a pause
before a drop.



since when?

since when am i expected
to be so fucking proper
with my sailors mouth
and my bawds brain?
shall i wear high collars
buttoned to my chin?
keep my ankles properly crossed
left over right and clasp
my gloved hands in my lap?
smile demurely when addressed
and never leave the house
without my parasol and purse?

let's get this straight, let's
make it clear, there
seems to be some
misunderstanding here.
i was, still am, and
will always be unclean,
only a step or two above
the queen of the trailer park
and only through blind luck.



fear

oral fixation steps onto the floor
cigarette follows cigarette
fingernails peeled off in shreds
layed open far into the quick.
when fingers bleed i chew my lips
until every bite stings and burns
in the manner of impending cold sores.
the tender lining of my cheeks
is a feast for self-consumption
as if eating myself shred by shred
could ward off disaster.

guess it comes in spurts?

(to be honest)

i walked on coals
and crawled on glass
and set myself on fire

(self-immolation being
such a respectable
suicide these days)

i screamed until
my vocal cords
hung loose & bloody threads

(what the words
were i can't quite
remember but . . .)

i did somersaults
and fucking cartwheels
learned to swing on a trapeze

(i thought the
tiny sequined skirts
might appeal)

i started running
marathons, became
a tri-athelete

(cardio, luv,
cardio is the
be-all end-all)

learned to work
that goddamn
stripper pole and still

(look at me
fucker you
will look)

it was not me
that brought
you back around

(although maybe
i could have
made it
eaiser)

if i had turned
off the light
i've always followed

(but oh how
i hate to play
stupid games)

i would not
have to bleed
out like this

(but you know
i'll let it bleed
to heal us both)




tide pool

it was grey
early morning
had yet to even
brush my teeth
you rose, the sun,
bringing springtime
to my ice-locked vessel.
a few minutes
quick work to
free ourselves
we fall & rise
a tide of breath
and flesh
crashing over moss-
cushioned breaks
a fish dives out
of sight in the
tide pool i keep,
surfaces and dives again.
and then the wave
breaks and washes
that fish up on
my shore



more shoes.

they gave me shoes and said
to fuckin wear 'em.
i said they looked too big,
them shoes, why my
little feet would just
swim and slide in those
things and they told
me 'we don't fuckin care,
you'll grow into them
eventually.'



(untitled)

the only thing that hasn't died
is the absolute surety
that i will say brand-new things
in brand-new ways, i was born
to change the world, make no
mistake, i know buried some-
where under these piles of
laundry, these old things to be
sorted, these sweetly nauseating
stack of corpses, somewhere
under all these things is the
gem i was born to show
the world . . .



uphill battle

something in your hand
shaking my ankle awake,
in the shoulders of your silouette
as i blearily searched my clothespile,
your stance as i poured coffee,
lost the spoon to the shreds of dreams,
you broadcast and i recieve.
wearily, warily, verily
you found the valley again.
i sigh out at the sunrise
recognize and choose the same again,
put my tired shoulder back to the stone
and push it up the next hill.