You say, Youíre such a mess. Look at your feelings spilling all over the floor Your heart clutched in your fist. † † Itís immature, all this blood and pain. And then the tears, loathsome. †Itís not death. †Not this. Have you tried the egg salad croissant? †Thatís worse than death.
But death isnít worse. †I know. † Death blows smoke into your brain, languidly soaks every dark corner Until you hide a serrated knife under the seat of your car. For safety. †For comfort. †Just in case you decide to let go of the heart in your fist. You reach...
Iím a mistake cloaked in compassion, I linger in your hallways, inhale your musky scent; Cigarettes and oil; I swallow your leftovers and amble in your stilted shadows; Your anointed nymph, forever waiting For your recovery.
But she waits too, with needles and tar. A spineless debutante, caressing you with necrosis † Replete with corpulent tranquilizers, Unconditional numbness and love. Sheís a lumbering beast With a fistful of pills and rancor. And I understand Why you choose her. †
I wait in the front seat, with my knees tucked under my legs While you visit our son I watch you kiss his plump cheeks, make him giggle, He glows, flushes, fondles every word, every breath, Your hallowed love. I am trying to rememberÖ Did you look at me? I know you didnít think to. I tugged on your pants, too low, so childish, You need money? Hereís your foolish money And I shove it into your pocket.
I have a secret. †Tucked under my knees. A holy longing, residual virtuousness, Haunted by woebegone ghosts. Infinitely,...
Iím a contrived beauty. If I were grim faced Hester Prynn Framed in a solemn, white hat and loose, billowy drapes Of religious chastity I would fade into a sea of pale, droning faces Yearning, like all of them, for the slightest indication I was something singular. But thatís not me. I find the means from bottles And jars, pallets, sprays, boots, Liquid fantasy And all the singularity I receive ordinarily † Is wholly contrived. †