your mystery

i am torn between laughing at you or crying because i miss you.
last night’s vomit in a tupperware container says i can’t forget
and today’s lack of hunger repeats the chorus line and kick.
goddam you dear how i’ve struggled to erase our dance moves
still carved into the floor in three four rhythmic grooves.

but laughing at you because you are trying harder than i am.
he is in your head the savior i was as well before my egress.
coldy analytically emotionlessly i know this and am comforted.
goddam you stranger they’re the same fucked up hips swinging
feet tapping. and you think you’re such a goddam mystery.

my long walk

long walk under streetlamps and i am famished
for someone to talk to. anyone would be fine.

sidewalk splintered where an iron foot crashed
when the crews were fixing splintered pavement.
i know how you feel how you’re not so much like
the others how you’re not quite built to code.

maybe we the broken humbled different odd
bits band together or maybe we wait in lines
held fast by the wellmade to showcase not so.
maybe we fit together like gorgeous accidents.

maybe. or under streetlamps and rumored stars
breathless waiting for someone to walk over.

my purgatory

you’ll send me beyond the pale to a place words don’t travel
and hope i never send arrows through the curtain to see what’ll stick.
this is sick like fuck and you know you should pummel me
with words until you collapse like a strongly leaning tower.
into my arms that is. i remember you doing that so many times.

but i’ve sent you beyond the pale where memories lay buried
in hope you don’t rattle christmas chains in the background often.
we are sick like cancer like fuck and you know we should mix
poison and treat eachother till our hair falls into the vomit below.
or you and me together to the sickbed of transfused past.

but we’ve been trapped beyond the pale fading fading fading
in hope if we both disappear neither will bear the fallout.
we are sick like radation like cancer like fuck and sweet lord
how it hurts how it burns that you know we should meet
somewhere where flesh and blood boils in the desert sunshine
and freezes in the arctic sunshine but at least sees sunshine
and hash this out until we are once again lovers like always
like we haven’t been since i first entered purgatory.

my admission

i don’t give a fuck what you do these days but i do dammit!
by writing these poems i’m saying i still care i still care
i can’t give you up and maybe i’ll never give you up.
but don’t you understand how much i want to forget everything
forget you forget your eyes forget my hands around your waist
leave the sweet memories behind. leave all our mistakes behind.
goddammit if i could! my head hangs on to things like that.
like i’m hanging from the eavestrough of a seven storey drop.

i would like to say for instance: oh you slept with him.
what a suprise what a fucking suprise and now you regret it.
lord above who could’ve seen it coming! no don’t cry here.
this shoulder free of tears for so many good good months.
i would like to say for instance: oh you fell in love with satan.
no way! and your stiff upper lip is scaffolding your dad built?
fuck a duck! and now you’d like a builder like i’ve always been.
alright i will build you a wall round and round yourself. airtight.

but let’s be honest since we don’t talk anymore and can’t lie.
if you came back this instant i would knit your bones
like i’ve never had the chance to. you’re still an idiot, darling.
if you came back this evening i would be there.

my reflected smile

i could scream at you all day. you’ve chained me to a wall
with nothing to do but scream. i’ll be a slow mute by myself.
if you hear me scream it’s not obvious. you’re paring down your life
like a fishmonger discriminating. you’ve cast me aside like entrails
question marking like obscene spaghetti to the grey tiles below.
i could scream because i am a bumbling fool with metaphors.
if you hear me scream it’s not obvious. i’m saying things backwards
and my blessings are curses. i have mastered the art of cruelty
but you have mastered me like a weapon turned on itself.
i could scream at the irony and you could smile at the sound
a smile i recognize fully as my own.

our strings

cut the strings and we’ll nosedive but no matter. no matter.
you say we were not meant to fly but instead flutter like bats
like bats mad with self knowlege to the ground and lay there.
you’re not a kite you say but more a hot air balloon
with your heating and cooling and rising and again settling down.
you’re no kite either i reply but more of a helicopter
when you sit in the back and pump pedals furiously sweating.

but which is it. were we not meant to fly or are we not kites?
i have a sneaking suspicion you’ve been writing a recipe.
take for instance two cups of complete devastation
and mix in a pinch of stiff upper lip. combine with anything
that makes you say god the whole six years were a travesty.
throw in some submerged anger and mix heartily while singing.
but not any of the songs i taught you or remind you of me.
lastly bake it in the glow of another man’s relentless affections.

but it won’t last. you can’t forget me. like i can’t always forget you.
maybe when i tell you about my love the english girl you’ll remember.
or maybe you’ll be happy for me like we’re old war buddies
and maybe we are. what the fuck do i know. i just cut strings.

your legs

there you have it: fuck you and your delirious running after love.
if you’d a clue what you’re after you’d have already found it
attached to a battery and cold rubber shoved between your legs.

how have i written these thousand lines to a queen?
to look now at your vacant throne is irony on irony writhing
like you two writhe in your imagination. like maggots on a corpse.

here you have it: i should have fucked you senseless.
if i’d had a clue what you were after i’d have already done it
like rubber-coated machinery creating fiction between your legs.

how have i sweated beneath the sheets a thousand nights for a whore?
to look now at your semen stained throne is revulsion upon revulsion.
your thighs grip my head. sweet imagination. maggots on a corpse.

my name

you recall the beach don’t you. when daylight became too sturdy
and we came back at night. we kissed and kissed again until
our lips were sore yet we kissed. was it one kiss or a thousand?
when you whispered that this is all and forever and i agreed.
when we lied. oh yes we were fine liars. was it one lie or a thousand?

you recall our footsteps don’t you. when waves rolled in
and we recast them. we walked and walked until
our legs were sore yet we walked. was it one step or a thousand?
when you looked back and our prints were gone with the tide.
we should have known our lives would become erasers.

you recall our promises don’t you. when starlight became blurry
and we slept like children. we slept and slept until
daylight became sturdy yet we slept. was it one hour or a thousand?
when we awoke blinking to a new day and you forgot me.
i should have known when you woke and forgot my name.

your lateral movement

oh my idiot lover. you’re the thing my mind bounces
when it’s raining. when the shutters are nailed down.
like for instance do you ever stop and call spades
when your mind greyhounds to the finish line.
or do you always end up with a chewtoy gnawed
where you dislike some feature?

oh my idiot lover. you’re the thing i worry
when an overcast noon becomes a starless evening.
like for instance what the hell are you turning into.
of course this is no different than last year this day.
do you always end up in the driver’s seat of a bulldozer
when you dislike others’ conclusions?

oh my idiot lover. you’re the thing i forget so quickly
when sunlight becomes my metaphor for life and love.
like for instance waking up your ghost didn’t mosey over.
but here i am again scribbling equations on the roof.
you know how i always become a mathematician when
i dislike your lateral movement.

my french girl

i met a french girl on the roof of a lowrise apartment.
it was new york in the fall. we were both smoking cigarettes
and spotting stars. though neither of us found any.
we chatted up clouds and sat under an umbrella sending
smoke off to be pummelled in the downpour.
we became fast friends the french girl and i.
how i loved her lilting accent and backwards grammar
and how she loved my ability to be brazenly american.
it was the best week of my life from brooklyn bridge
to the hudson river to the atlantic ocean and back again.
it was the best week of my life how we kissed accidentally
and then on purpose and then found a bed somewhere.
how i loved to lay there tangled up with her smoking cigarettes
and spotting freckles. we found so many. so many.
it was the best week of my life how we parted and i cried
like a baby for the first time. how she blew kisses.
how i can feel her curled up against me like a question mark.
how she is my favorite lover. my french girl.