Film of water on sidewalks
this morning was still
though drops are falling
in the heat thickend air.
You are a poem I wanted
to write without the word I.
I couldn’t do it, so now
I am running, feet falling
in puddles to break this
silence; with each shoe fall,
the world hears our name, you
and I, and you. It’s always
full circle. [...]
I write a lot about love. and a little about sex. And a little about violence. Or maybe it is all colored and narrated with violence.
I’m having trouble writing lately. I think it is partially beacuse of stress. I think that it also has to do with the fact that [...]
all come to me
in search
of love.
It starts
as an inkling
a quiet need
that blossoms
rapidly into obsession,
into passion. It blossoms
only to wilt. Why can’t
I quit using the word,
why can’t I leave it
behind to the archives.
I want to cut thru the air
like a knife. I want to feel
sweat evaporate. You forgot
time and time again that I [...]
She woke up. The sky was so blue she thought she could cut a piece of it off and suck on it. She thought it would dissolve bit by bit in her mouth. It would sustain her.
Years ago, she woke up, too. She woke to find wings had sprouted from her [...]
I was wanting
to fly - desperate
for one moment of sheer
joy, passionate for excitement -
no matter how short lived.
So, I climbed, placing one
foot above the other, dragging
my emmense weight up
up up into another woman’s heaven.
At the top, the world
was a child’s play thing. I imagined
a giant blue air bag, the sort that
stunt men [...]
and that was all. No lights,
no sweet hum of household
appliances. A flash of light
when I was alone
Just before dark. I saw it only
out of the corner
of my eye. I was drawn towards
it and repelled. I wanted
to see it better, its color and
shape. I wanted to see,
but I knew it [...]
It’s pretty mundane, really
The Fisting Poem
Because I can,
I will write a poem
about fisting.
I will tell you
what it is
to reach inside
another person, to
streatch a small
important part
of another so it fits
every curve of a small
important part of you.
Because no one can
ever tell me not to,
I can tell you
how to fold your fingers
into your palm,
how to drip thick
clear [...]
This is a draft of a poem that I started writing while running this weekend.
I
Reaching for your center,
she was always trying
to pull from you
some sort of bone, some
piece of cartilage
something hard and real
of you to call
her own. Life taught
her that she could
push past eager resistance
to get to the warmest
part of your body. She [...]
I am
creativly
self-destructive.
I wake in the morning
and remember
cold steel
against skin;
splitting flesh
on my ankle
and thigh;
lines of shining,
red and white
pills on the edge
of my mother’s
kitchen dounter
and an endless
glass of water;
walking home
stumbling
drunk in the dark
alone, arms
around
my neck and waist
not fighting,
pleading for
the real end.
I woke up and knew
you were no longer
a reason
to live
after I drove
away from you
in a midnight
thunderstorm
without
windshield wipers.
I [...]
My little clam shelled
heart knows to rock shut
again just when I wish
it would bloom open
like a rose. Steam it,
hammer it, pry with
a flathead screw driver,
drop it in the boiling pot,
nothing will let you in again.
