Posts tagged: words that i wrote
i want to see a sunset on venus
and i hope it spills open into a smolder
as Sol and Gaia’s twin sister
share an open palmed kiss,
a smacker, an eclipse is this
fist finishing going gone,
two down, a swing and a mistress,
let me tell you how my bad behavior
turns us over and abrupts us
i can read the text logs and
the cosmic static like tea leaves
it’s a hoot and howler, persistent
as this drooping cough, saved for
a sour induced-lung, it’s gotta be
eight stories up this parking garage,
and I could swear this is where I
found myself, but then I left myself
there. Shit. Why the round trip,
why the long face, life is it’s own
one way and counting the cars
with one headlight missing is
half the battle, the other half
is sitting in the dark.
tonights are broken glass
and in the honest hours how you howl
at the moon in shards and justifiably
dip your legs skinny and sincere
into a star mirrored sea
named My Open Mouth
tonights my stomach full as
the fix is in, from fifty lashes,
ten hail mary’s, to a singular
"I am going to one day die,"
this body’s weight is sacraficial
tonights towards nothing else
massacre of should’ve known betters
as ceaseless love falls into itself
when that wouldn’t stop you
and perfect fits for half-hyperboles. wedged
and that beneath in swollen glands in how
we told our history. might as well have stabbed
me at the airport terminal. who am i to die
anyways. didn’t you know i didn’t know you
well enough to know myself in. this way.
how is it always falling out of mouths. hell of
an arm you have on ya, hell of a lot of things
when habit happens get talkative or speak
of these bleeding machines on empty stomachs
always hungering never unbuckling the belt.
switch notches, never sanctified a fly, never
prayed to the proper god, who’s name is
always escaping on the wispy breaths of
they-say-they’re believers. and sure enough.
but i can’t add it up anymore, can’t tell
if this is leading up to something. maybe
for you there is a white picket heavenly ordeal
i’ve seen you brighter than the sun and
cried when I didn’t want to be a bad person
saying that, when now it feels no different
than basement dwelling nights bleaching
skin and plier teeth, how does it feel to know
that you got what you deserved. what is the
difference between confession and apology
if it comes out in these poorly-ordered words.
what i wanted to say is, i’m still waiting on that
one-day-when i can forgive like you can but
not like before. now everything old is new again.
Under shroud (and with bodies like towers of shapeless birds,) would you ask me if I had a hand i could pull through time. you tell me which tendered strings i’d have to pull to get a throating. if forgiveness were exemption, you’d have said everyword to get me off. what is this. i can’t even put my mouth around it. my hands on it unwielded and misshapen tried beyond trying to unravel you off a chaise lounge. here we are on a staircase again. touch don’t touch me anywhere. if it was alright this (once upon a) time, open palmed and find myself undid. counting back twenty six twenty five four three two and maybe that’s enough to not press butterflies into the earth. one twenty nine teen eight and not spread and not thin. y eight and fists and a single finch with weight to carry to find my way back to you again.
When I get the chance, I will find the rest of the birthmarks hidden on your scalp. My favorite numbers turned to 101, 134, and 118, and Interstate 5. When you found the ocean floor you spit, spit, spit. Often I want your voice to spill over like this cracked and tilting fountain. I never fell asleep, but woke up in my car, and you tell me you won’t spend the night. I understand. You don’t want to taste the past still on my lips. Now I eat the future three meals a day, and my blood stands still but glows.
And is it only word that bind us? Keep on sleeping on “I do’s,” “little of heart of mine’s,” and “my writhing expletive’s.” We are wed by our language, brought together in our oral consummation. Something in this love gives lie to our skin as boundaries. I and I gives way to us. We give way folding back into our self and the questions left.
"Who are you seeing? What’s in her name? What does it mean? Why have you lied? What do you want? Who else? What else? How many times do you end before someone else begins?"
You mouth the words, don’t go. You mean, please go. Or maybe, don’t go. You haven’t yet decided to mean what you say. And every other year you change your mind. You twist your tongue against your mouth, pretending over what you should have said. Until you’re done going back. Don’t go, you would have said, if you don’t want to.
My tongue is not yet full of your vocabulary. I lick the black and sticking tar off your lungs, this cavity of words. Your poetry is a smoke screen for the indelible shadows cast from the white-hot ember that burns within you. You, a sun with skin. You, a fist down my throat. You, on lips and chin. What nothings could you sweeten to feed me? When with every word, I hunger.
Like torn stockings, up and down her legs were where sticks and stones had hurt her . As if to say, this line you do not cross, and this line you do not cross, and this line you do not cross. And this is the great divide, between godhead, and thin and supple fingers. Between your neck and the sentimental touch of Texas’ hands. You were growing into the stretch marks of the universe. Boundless as if skinless, as if scuffs and scratches were all you were and wanted to be.
And you didn’t think how much you’d miss a cute rear end, when you gave your body to the body of another. Or the beating of a stubborn socked legged into the ground. The other blank and stiff and naked calf anchored as if to another world. Thinking you had tied all sins to all the seams gathered, unseemly and unexcused, the wanting mouth and the caved in chest. You ask as if nothing else, that ass, and something of a shoulder, the question of another “if.” “If” not this then what? Then nothing.
She carries her bones and then what else under that luminous skin? All words and bones and pulsing internal organs, screaming something meek into the far and distant. And she said in all one word and then another, are your wrists and ankles dependent on this clause? Is the cut of your hair the start of haiku poetry? Do your long legs tell me prose? Or all too easy like spitting from your mouth and molars the things you missed? Or something swallowed, the last word or last laugh? All over now. All stretched over. All thinned out.
in this time line we are losing,
in another you are lost, in another
we are walking over roots in the sidewalk,
we are touching cold bottles to your thighs,
in another you have written me a letter,
or we are speaking through a void,
in another we are reading german in airports,
you hold sadness in your hands, in another
you hold my hand, I hold sadness in my hand.
i am singing to you, i am lying to you.
in another your skin is smooth, in another i
have a mouthful of scars, in another i have a
burning bowel you have an anger in you,
you’re a blonde, brunette, redhead. i am
on the bathroom floor you are on the phone.
in another we are trading poetry, Rilke and Windle,
Olds and Bukowski, Wigginton and Morgan. I am old
and you are young, you’ve out grown and I’m
still a goddamned child. You are south, in another
you are north again.
in another you are drawn to me,
in another we sleep and wake, and sleep
and wake, and sleep and wake. in another
there’s a house in the woods, there’s an ocean
not too far, there are clothes on the front porch,
water in the foot prints in the mud, opened books
on the table, There’s a time for me and you
and not another.
your legs are burned with the shadows
of overlapping grass when I fucked
you while afraid with a stomach full
of a doubting thoughtlessness
just last night, i said to you i
have ruined myself for you, but you
still came and laid claim to every
uncovered limb you cling to
over skin, bone, and stretched up scratched up
your breasts are pale under the collar
of your rib cage where you wear a crown
of compassion and a choker collar of thorns
you wake me when I can’t sleep, and
make my idle fingers your own, you ask me
“feel,” and I should have saved myself
for this so all at once you could teach me how
to “feel” your body, your soul, the way it deserves.
there isn’t a saying
for, take my body apart,
and remove the crass mechanism
for betrayal from the
very chambers of my heart,
that closed fist-shaped
say love pours from,
but it’s something else.
will you still gather me in your
skinny open arms like you would
the biting sea, the wild flowers and
bristles, and any other
animal found limping and
bloodied at your heels
as you walk the earth
in your naked body
and its singing, boundless form.
and i apologize
that you found me
in this condition to have
to grind me down like teeth,
to undo where i am
from where i’m from,
and take me into you
like a threaded needle
through your abdominal wall.
i did not know love like yours
existed, or how i would punish
you for it, how i would take
you in in comfort, show you
that the hand that holds is
the hand that smothers the
warm burning of your chest,
love you, but still attempt
to break you in the same
places where I would like
to take myself apart.