Prayer

she was an ignorant piece of trash
in a land of charlatans
and I don't have the patience for Maybelline and
Las Vegas like I used to
for women who smell like custard and lie
through acrylic teeth

he was a one legged mannequin
or maybe he had two tongues and one testicle
either way
I'm done with the freak show
when puppets have more personality
and men blend together - their blues and enema voices

there's too many people here
it's got to be the apocalypse
shooting and lost aircraft occupation
I just need some trees and dirt
and a soulless land of eating
and fucking and watching all the nothing

The notebook

He had a Roman nose and wrote songs about himself in the shower with me naked though I would never agree to be naked in front of his mirrored
eyelids something perverse.

She gave me a copy of her vows expectant like I was supposed to critique them or create a new word for joy or admonish the damned verse like it would matter what one
bird embroidered on a napkin - or one bride in June.

That was the summer I found red meat in the cabinet where the wine used to be and I knew
it was a hint because the meat made me sick and the bone cut my hand when I went to grab for it before the disposal swallowed baby.

My moth mother gave me a pair of bone shoes to walk in she wished I had been born with the pale chartreuse wings but instead two giant backwoods feet and it wasn't the truth of the summer she wore in fear of my vast body and her small lifespan.

Be quiet - we were taught to breathe - not taught - it is something we just do under the waiting our chests expand and collapse and question small motives for why some of us do and
others don't why some have names like poison and others cut free from the enormity.

Covet

The wanting witch
meets me at the corner
of my failures.

She gives me a script - it's supposed to make
you happy but I always
forget to open
my mouth.
My lips are permanently
blue. I
use my hands to pry open
epiphany.

The wanting witch teaches gravity.
She kicks me for losing
and for being young.

At times, I think the birds
in the sky will drown me,
like they know
who's unfit for the air and the envy
of clouds
becomes apparent.
The diamond sun burns my eyes
in retribution.

The wanting witch
says you have been lonely
without me -

She sends me to be
where you've been.

It stinks of your
antiquity.

Knowing you had us both,
I practice
the faraway mythology
or the curse.

Ongoing saga of angst

I feel stuck - maybe a little stuck. There are so many things I want to do and never really an action instigated. Spring may be the time to start planning something big. Big to me, anyway.

Give me your inspiration and ideas.

Fragmented

As children we formed
inarticulate seraphs
     another cold, Indiana morning -



Behind the walls of memory, clowns paint their faces
At home, the
    hidden



Sisters and brothers,
the story is finished
    not completed



And I cannot release you
from what comes
    any more than then



No matter how many times I write
the happened to
    of us



None have changed
    The words line up, cringe
dutifully

Built for speed

the tiny touch
it is disaster
knowing    how to undo
the intimate
box
how to disable    talk
over spaghetti
at 3 am
there is no name here
the tiny touch
where it is longer    fierce
and faith
dissipates
hot pink
this color knows
my desire
i have pulled a lucky
rabbit fur coat
for her
no one's daughter
my hand sweats
you hit it
there is a tiny trigger
i won't be late
you are wearing leather
or the darkness
laser lights reveal    tiny
cartoon girl
and winning
you or
beating it
  is all that matters

* This was written loosely based on the article, Technology, terror and Viagra could warp sex and relationships: researchers and my own exploration into intimacy and the future of sex.

Just when I thought the news was getting boring ...

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