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I have three cuts through
the devil on my leg
and a small bruise
to the right of it,
a large bruise on
my left thigh and
when we met,
you had a large mark on your
right arm that looked
like someone had grabbed you
and I don’t know where
I got it.

you are careful.
I am unsure what to say.
I don’t either.
I gesture to myself,
I mean to mine.

I begin to tell her a dream.
he begins to tell me a dream.
I am in the middle of a forest
and she is in front a fire
and all she says is
wait, be careful
what you say
and holds her hands up.
she kind of walks towards me.
she is young but
but like also like her child.
like she is her daughter.
she is walking up,
she is wearing a long white
pj gown and has long hair,
hands out saying
be careful what you say.
and then I just wake up.

and then wake him up.

but then there’s someone else
on a brown horse
looking up at a tree;
it’s night and the branches
enclose like he is in a web or a
dome and asks a squirrel
in a tree
what time is it?
turns around.

I say: It’s time.

and then wake him up.

“datura moon” or “the story of us”

paralyzed by fantasy, ask
what’s the weirdest thing about
me? it’s in my head.

don’t tell anyone what i did to you.
don’t tell anyone what i did to you.
don’t tell anyone what i did to you.
don’t tell anyone what i did to you.
don’t tell anyone what i did to you.
don’t tell anyone what i did to you.
don’t tell anyone what i did to you.
don’t tell anyone what i did to you.

“They don’t mean to cause offense, but it doesn’t occur to them that clarity of facts can ever be offensive.”

-Mercury in Virgo

it keeps no record of wrongs.
i’m saying it out loud
and I’m noticing my drawl
drawn out that’s how I know
he’s come round.
placed toffee on the other
mantle the way he likes
try not to ask about
whatever wayward lover
that’s been side eyeing
me or just puckering
their lips and I’m
hor d’oeuvres.
disentangled.
waste.
of time.
but here we are
marking everything
xxx with my fire finger
so I decide to
begin again:

love is patient.

I am trying not to get lost
in the mirror
which is a tall fucking
order (but drawing it
out so it goes
t aaaaallll fucking
ordddderrrrrrr)
when the little girl
enters the room.

the audience is lost,
I know. ok, so
there’s me plus
my reflection
plus it’s
what year and
there’s
how many
folks
in the room?

“Formula #2: Descriptive”

there are two giant
bruises on each thigh.
I am careful not to hit them
with my fingers except
I already have
and I shriek.
you don’t even ask.

I spent most of my time
that late winter
searching.
what you would say, ugh,
combing through options,
in flux and in search of
weight.
and some guy,

a stranger
in my house, said to me
after I had given him reiki
for money, for rent,
for phone bill,
smirking on my apartment floor:
“Smile.” and added.
“What do you look like naked?”
and added
“How much to find out?”

and I stood tall and robust
like a weed in Kensington’s
concrete garden:
stepped on but
won’t go away
and  then
suddenly growing
into a gun.
not only that,
but suddenly
making rent.
fuck.
ok.

you don’t even ask. 

“doors #8”