Bossy Behavior

Month: May, 2013

no amount of birthday parties will ever save you

Girl with mile long hair and coat hanger undertow

you simply cannot see anything

with you head in the waves.

 

 

Tired nerves in her hazel eyes-

did something slip behind my face or yours?

Splintered resolve from the heavy labor,

beat back disgust

feigned enlightenment.

 

 

I will do this for you

as you’ve done for me.

When the night clouds churn like

organs of vapor digesting

and the big yellow moon

stood high and shined,

the anxious tides

thrashing fast- but you kept pace.

A mirror, a fast coral sea mirror.

 

Bleached not my beauty, your legs solid sea foam.

Flesh honey I can hardly tolerate,

and my eyes can only trace trace trace

and I’m savoring this awkward dance between us

your throat of raspy dead notes

it’s the sound of autumn stomping.

 

Sporadic messages in bottles littered

your back yard of waves,

Don’t forget your eye on the door

no amount of birthday parties will ever save you.

The Late Light Makes Everything

 

our home shares the street

with a cool residing wind

that thrives in winter make-believe

 

and an isolated tall black tree

that stands like brush stroke speak

that can be admired for its figure-its fluidity

 

the birds erupt from its branches

heralding on the back of beauty, the dew-

it will always find its place as frost

 

I’m always looking for a sign of life

mostly on afternoon rides- singing alone

is that you parked, are you home?

 

We’ll Never Be Free From It

In a lit parlor you recite pain

Anecdote

She went missing, babe split in the night

I’m placid and have mastered jealousy

this time,

I know a friend best when I can face them leg splayed.

 

But that old ghost howls,

 

Old ghost

Old shame

Old photos alone.

I had a unibrow in one and my shirt was too big

but I thought it was stylish

And I thought I could be a model.

 

Whatever happened to that photo?

Where do old memories go when you toss them out

with the trash?

I always thought the garbage man must have a

fat photo album.

I guess I should be more careful

I guess I should learn to let go

 

I’m walking with my head held high

My hair twin serpents on my breast

And I stumble over a meaty stump-

It’s alive with larva and its eyes are ripe

And its tongue hangs out of its maw vulgarly

It laps at my ankle

“Remember me? Remember me?”

CAN’T YOU STAY DEAD

I hear myself shouting from somewhere totally vulnerable and

Why did I ever let you touch me?

 

Thanks so much-

 

 

for reminding me.

Mercy Fishes

I walked along the reflection pool and my feet hurt, sliding around useless in old shoes. Mallards skirted across the shallow pool, a train of ducklings. “Aww, look. I never see those,” The sun slowly became a hot diamond waiting behind a magnifying glass. I saw a sea of detritus in the pool and in it three gold fluffed masses. I knelt to fish them out. The first ducking squeaked and fought, escaping me in a wind up way. The second followed suit and the third was dead; its head bent beneath the water and petals like a cane. I lifted them and placed them out of the tangled mass of dead petals coaxing them to join the other tribes. They swam in confused circles, broken bath toys and found their way stuck again. I watched them, wet and defenseless. I can’t carry them all day, I know. “Not all can make it,” I declared and shifted my weight in my old shoes.