one day I had a dream
you bit the head off of a blue jay
and spit it back into her nest.
when I asked why you said:
To prove you will never leave me.

here I  am,
on command about to run
across the canyon and I
laugh real loud in my
skin tight
dress:

the one cut real low in the back
in the shape
of an obtuse
triangle;
jarring contrast to my
scared-straight spine
but I still
slouch.

I twist the straw into crooked pieces
and tell myself things:
   make sure they know
     you are having
      a real good time
 show your teeth
 hearty laugh
with belly and mouth and your
lips are stretched to the limits like your
social apathy.
show your full moon eyes
and hide.
hold your tonic like a wand;
fall asleep
inside of yourself
in the middle of
everything.

later, he will show
you photographs
to prove you were
there.
if you are lucky,
he notices the story
dripping from your
eyes, the door
opening, the splash
of scarlet on your tights
as you replace each page,
as you become the
walking lake flooding
the wake that held
you, and he becomes
the witness that love
is shaking sometimes
but still sharp
and with purpose,
the utility that seizes
to deconstruct,
to create with its
efficacy,
to create layers
and cut through them,
distorting to repair
or make more of less,
make more of one solid square,
make moats of larger masses
retaining density.

not the surgeon or the stitch
but the undulation,
the quiver of the knife.

“tributaries”

 

Advertisements

good profile.

have never seen her hair
she was
wearing a platinum blonde wig
when I met her and
then a brown one and then
a head scarf,
floral, purple, I
remember.

bangs peeking out but
the rest an
all black everything
including dress,
boots and nails,
eyes lined like soot
tracing the chimney top,
and she was a
studious observer,
a witch.

told me she “burned a sigil”
for this and then she
licked her lips
(think about me)
touched her nails to her tongue
(listen to me)
ran her wet nails down
her neck
(wait for me)

and I’ve just been waiting.

“How guys save me in their phone #11”

nice figure and

sharp glances.
obsessed with her wrinkles when
passing window.
thirty three years old and can’t seem to
thwart her own self persecution.
but an alpha. 

told me to sit down on the bed.
told me to lay face down on the bed.
told me to consent.
said she liked ass play

and pegging and

doing things in pieces. 

 

“how guys save me in their phone #10”

made me walk to her house
and collect stones along the way.
said she was building something.
my pockets and fingers were dirty
and when I arrived,
she was sitting, arms crossed
and

“throw that conch shell away.”

when I asked about the stones,
she looked perplexed.
said to throw those away too.

“sisyphus” or “how guys save me in their phone #8”

if you shrunk her to the
size of a pine needle
and hid her in the bunk of
a barn underneath the bales,
she would shine like a comet,
possibly set the house on fire,
so you would find her.

“how guys save me in their phone”

you become loosely creased
looseleaf reduced to a crumple
floating to the floor
without altar,
a harmonic little
m o r e
in my palm
on your way
to the tile
where I gently lay
you    leave you
altered without prayers
once more.

leave you twisted
in want
like me and
deformed.

“warning forms”

the first thing I showed him was the callous
              here look
and he licked it with his tongue
without questioning my need to
grip things so tightly
I’ve succumb to carpal tunnel,
arthritis, delusions of
grandeur and infancy.

has anyone ever talked to you about splitting?”
is what the doctor said to me once
after observing me mumbling to myself
in my room.

             sometimes i like to shoplift.

“Who is Catarina?”

sometimes I like to fuck the men with wives.

“Catarina is the girl who does bad things. I am Sarah. I am the good girl who does good things.”

sometimes I like to hunt.

“splitting is a phenomenon in which you  sort of leave your body to allow another persona to take over.”

sometimes I like to punish bad boys.

“like possession?”

sometimes I like to peek at Christmas presents.

“no, more like split personality.”

sometimes I watch the mirror dance in candlelight
            and wait for her to come
              I break men
like the swell that rises over bridges
engulfing islands with her mouth,
I break men with turns of
tides.


“the journal”

They stuffed myself and three black women around a metal toilet in a cage designed to hold only stray cat. One was pregnant and kept asking the time and the guard always replied “Why does it matter to you? You ain’t going nowhere.”

Grace is being able to count the beats of seconds by secretly tapping your finger on your inner thigh while the pregnant woman pees right in front of you; spreads her legs and you don’t look but it’s hard not to. In here, they just let you bleed all over your panties. Women’s cells always smell like blood. I can’t make this up. (Call your wolves). I had an idea that it was close to 1 pm but I didnt dare say anything in case I was wrong about everything. I kept looking at my shoes and hoped no one here was going to shit in this toilet but I already knew that one of us was trying to forget her cramps and I was forgetting my broken body and the pregnant woman had a man to forget and two others had to figure out a way out and the pregnant woman slid off the toilet back onto the floor.

“I’m sorry guys. I’m pregnant. I gotta go a lot.”

We nodded.

“The women who robbed the men”

Court was fine. I wore a blue button up and my long black wig that made me look like a soccer mom or a very modest witch. I barely remember a single thing except I was convicted of a first DUI due to a technicality in paperwork. I had spent all my family’s money on a lawyer who spent all his money running late night TV ads which is how we got here.

Grace is the bruise the ankle bracelet leaves so you don’t have to smell the menstrual blood fill the metal toilets all day.

“Good news. House arrest. But you gotta sit in booking for a while.”

I nodded. I remembered booking.

“How to forget everything day 61”

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑