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  • “Name your torture,”
    one of them said
    with a wink.

    I wanted an orchard
    but I swallowed the vodka
    he handed me
    willingly.

    “The Gorge”

  •  

    wait, here is a secret act.

     

    Act 6: the act of restraining things

    “To live in this world you must be able to do three things:

    to love what is mortal;

    to hold it against your bones

    knowing your own life depends on it;

    and when the time comes to let it go,

    to let it go.”

    –Mary Oliver

  • I was in a house with a girlfriend,
    packing. we needed to prepare to get out of there.
    there was a flood coming
    but earlier I was in my hotel room somewhere else,
    in a wig that had become my hair I wore it so much,
    it was really me and I was thin, I looked thin.
    they always say I look thin.
    dancing in front of the mirror and not scared
    that at any moment I may see a ghost.

    I looked like a ghost: pallid face and wan body and I just
    moved autonomically.   I kept dancing and suddenly in a fit,
    I threw myself out into the hallway and ran across
    to your door where you were not alone and I thought better of it and
    turned back towards my place, where the door was not only unlocked
    but slightly ajar, ready to welcome me back.

    and it wasn’t until today that I knew the three,
    assuredly. their names and what they meant to me.
    restraint is an art I intend to master and
    a flood was coming, feelings are the secret masters
    of me.
    I have never been quiet about it.

     

    “dreams #3”

  • I want this thing gone.

  • no.
    so many years have gone
    by and these spines are
    razor sharp from your
    diamond stone tongue,
    growing and
    ready to write
    you.

    “backbones”

  • there is no difference
    between love and liberation
    and some were born saints,
    you say as you help me
    in the mugwort bath,
    the smell of rose and geranium
    circling the tile.
    I plucked the petals and dropped them
    one by one for aesthetic.
    not free of indulgence, but
    patient   your fingers make
    stems in the water
    and I guess I am waiting
    for something.

    “the swell”

  • freedom will teach you how
    to stay in all new ways.

  • when we are wayward
    or won’t marry them
    or stand up when they
    crush our necks and they
    say the rope is coming next.
    we should be

    stuffing our faces with the meat they provided,
    learning fillet knives,
    learning to skin hides,
    smiling like shovels and
    burying them.

  • we lack vision.
    we just paint our nails black,
    and dress like witches,
    talk shit;
    start shit for derision.
    and we keep turning to our men
    for forgiveness.

  • sometimes things just go away
    like missing pieces

  • and love?
    I want this thing gone

    so I can be empty with my tea
     and good ideas,
    alone.

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