I am surrounded by men
who are wolfish in detonation
but repenting for a lifetime
of substance abuse
so we nod when they say
things that are aptly
reflected instances in which
they felt a guilt greater
than themselves.
they usually begin with things
 like
I took advantage of her
and I cross my legs.

I am wearing brown tights, brown
heeled boots and a cream turtleneck
sweater dress.  my hair is
short, uncombed and strange
and I am mostly plain.
I wear light blush, mascara and
chapstick but I don’t spend all
day about it.
it is important as a woman
to catalogue what you were wearing
and how you generally look.
also I had gained some weight
first, before I  discovered that
counting beans will gain you
phone bill money.
 when you tell the audience the story
they can gauge reaction better.
were you homely, girl?

I was neither homely nor
exceptional,
merely watching the blue chips
of nail polish flake onto
the floor as I found
my hands to be urgent
suddenly.

“confessions #2”

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the day I arrived in the hotel
in the financial district of New York
to meet a Russian photographer
who promised me a night in an expensive
suite and a binding contract
that has been violated over time
without my awareness,
my nails were painted
blue to match my
bruised knees.

spread more, all the
way.

I thought that was
cute. he gave me a fishnet
black onesie I ripped a hole
in but wear on dates
to remember us by.
 and even though
he took advantage of me
and you felt betrayed
by some unshaved labial
part of me,
I made my half of rent
for once.
in the car from the bus
stop on my smile
spread and the bickering
couldn’t dissaude against
the new confidence.
the way money feels
in an envelope.

ok, chill.
fuck, I got rent.

“doors (#4)”

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my paranoia is up
which helps me to
instruct myself better,
instructing them but
what I tell you is inconsequential.
merely I am pressure of depth
and that I believe it so,
having told you first
with conviction, I begin
to frame it.

legs crossed on the carpet,
hands out in imposition.
the wood mantle lit
and rearranged, objects
of sentimentality removed
so any backhand can’t
sweep it.
it’s important that my personal items
are kept away from the circle,
and maybe once I didn’t believe
but falling victim to your
own enchantment, you begin
to care about which stones
are set and things like that.
hands out:

first, you will be looking
up to notice
the sky dark but glittering
with stars
so the whole place
around you is lit up
and there are friends nearby. 

I say this directly to the
picture jasper draped in the
thread of my necklace,
the glyph of Lilith.
and hopefully,
as in with a little
upward inflection.

1.

0

I’m taller than you expected,
yes?
I move the bottom of
my foot down
 your shoulder
and pieces of snow
drop all over your ear.
 you are level
with the dogs yellow
eye, or she has become
level with you.

I’m not here to help,
merely observe.
there are rules to this.
I watch you sink into
the sheath of Earth that begins
to crack beneath you.
I don’t know
if it is surrender
but it is prayer like,
or maybe it is irritation.
I’m here now and I
don’t know where to begin,
which trail to point to so
I just unfurl and
turn into the frozen
lake right there.

 

3.

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“what do you do when something loves
you? do you love it back?

I’m volatile.”

I’ve got nothing,
 I show him,
but notes like this;
each one parched out
later, gutted
by time travel,
tornado worship,
something called “the
myth becomes” and
I get nothing done.

 

they don’t believe me
but I amounted to nothing
and I show them
sweeping my hand over
an obscured history
but no real success
I laugh, undaunted
usually and also
breezy. I like smiling.
composition open
pointing to one sentence
I like watching time.

I’m obsessed with unproducing,
or burning a process as you
 watch it unfurl. it’s like
setting the bottom of each trunk
on slow fire and then you
climb to the top of
the pine watching it
engulf you then eviscerate
whatever you were.
I am up by dawn, or close
to it,  thinking this is what
 true love is doing
and I’ve done this before;
proving habit,
and the deep deep
null of feeling
that I really possess
daily, filled with
plotting and idle time,
a rumination of these
invidious encounters.
something always in my hand.
something always tinctured,
distilling and then
wanting you to see it:
my nullness and
overreaction and courting
 that must be
facade or instinct or
vexing but
mold it into something
better than the ice cold
well I am.
palms open in please.
that’s where people fall.
in the snow bank
in the bottom of the frozen
hole trying to help
the little
girl.

I think a lot,
I say softly.
and I like learning
 words.
point to one:

duplicity


“the act of naming things”

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things just have to start and

the come up is hard,
and sometimes it is better if im moving.
it depends on how much I swallow.
I remember the agreement
was to not be a
martyr.

I look at the
wall and laugh.

“new moon in Taurus”

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“if there is no community for you, young man, young man, make it yourself.”

0

“When thieves meet, they recognize each other instantly.”

–Alan Watts

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I think hes the marker of
death but I don’t want to tell
him, what I’d seen.
me: recently sliced open
in my tub, an illusion
cracking, my blood
everywhere.
I don’t want to tell him my fate
and I don’t want to put on
the blindfold. 

 

what have I give myself
to? proprietary
men? this is how
to leave. you only
have to leave once.
fated love works like this:
you watch a clock
start going backwards and
hug yourself to sleep.

I have acclimated to
freezing water, I did not
enjoy it.

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