Bossy Behavior

Month: August, 2013

I Need Some Good Words Fucked Into Me

I need some good words fucked into me

or

I need to find the right lines

to right me.

traveling the tides of time

on the backs of

Bradford blossoms,

the stench of carrion nostalgia-

I heard it was the strongest

of our longings-

to become such as fossils,

to relive what were.

a million reasons to be

distracted.

a million reasons to

spread my legs-

a million reasons for the

birds to sing-

in which I cannot see

but it churns the tides anyway,

learning to love the

right way, after

being fostered by drunk brutals

or father’s in their own right-

I’ve left that decade

in a grave of lines,

lines I’ve scribed

and lines left unearthed.

Clover Bracelet

I left

because I had to

prove it to

myself-

 

but I see

my reflection

in your

face, a landside.

 

clover from

lawns

torn with grass

and all

 

tied to your

wrist-

the delicate

jewelry.

 

pointing at

the jar

I say, this

is where honey comes from.

 

(I’ll never

leave you.)

I Can’t Do Nothin Right

 

I wanted to say you were beautiful

but that’s what creeps say.

I noticed dogs bark the loudest

behind their master’s fences.

I wanted to love you in person

but it’s easier when you’re away.

I did a swell job at

poisoning the well didn’t I?

I guess blood pacts

are my addiction, especially the flimsy ones.

I tried to conjure the greats
with shadow puppets on my wall.

I’m greedily repentant

I’m hungry, hungry and sorry.

This is for You, Melon Head

 

sappy music

 

pouring slow from speakers as sap

 

 

 

melon head

 

I saw you on the bridge

 

50 stones from the river

 

and 50 stories you

 

recited to me

 

 

 

with flight response

 

I blindly

 

bitterly

 

flew

 

 

 

the sun was setting wasn’t it?

 

the sun

 

was nodding

 

 

 

it was slipping

 

into a sherbet horizon

 

the clouds swallowed it

 

like a communion

 

wafer

 

 

 

melon head how did you heal?

 

sun traded rolls with our lone

 

cold satellite

 

its lousy atmosphere- it’s paper thin

 

 

 

laugh at my soggy sway, melon head

 

but I was trying to balance under

 

those giants

 

 

 

50 thousand stories

 

50 thousand deaths

 

 

 

Wet Cave

I fled from the thought

the way one escapes pain through poison

wondering in cave blindness

if I could ever be patient enough

so

I save your lines

I plan to keep them close

to mine

because the more I fall in

this shroud

the more my voice falls faint

I need a stand-in

to help hold this together

to help bail water

that the cave in

its caliginous hospitality

has given me generously

my memories of our

conversation water logged and

swollen,

the ink now indiscernible

now that I can’t remember

what you said

I’m sorry but

I had to tear your face

out of my book

but at least now we know

where we stand-

with cold feet.

my father puked on my wedding gown

in dreams

we eloped

 

planned ceremony

of simple bands

 

Southern priest and

lizards basking mausoleums

 

my father

made us late

 

by puking his

stored bourbon on my gown

 

as I was

beating him ruthlessly

 

our dream

fell apart

 

like white bread

in milk

Now I’m Sweating

Now I’m Sweating

 

now I’m sweating,

sweating and I remember walking

really heavy and fat at seven-teen-

it was like ninety degrees

a walk-in oven.

what did I know then?

it feels like that time

happened to someone else,

some girl who happened to die

or fade into obscurity

with stretch marks and cesarean scars

a passive husband and grimy faced children-

but then again I catch

glimpses of that girl

in my own long mirrors

and realize it was

my life a long time ago.

 

so I was trying to get a job

at some grocery store

and was walking home from the pee test,

nothing to worry about

such as the vanilla life I was tame-

(a subordinate in denial)

walking from the lab in

a sweltering haze

wanting to die

frizzy hair

stuck and humid

some boy I thought I loved

some boy I thought I would die without

sleeping sound in the air conditioning

in my bed-

and I lurched on

busses passing me

with the mild hope I would never sit in one again-

and that I could please a dandruffed haired

and acne scared boy

who harvested dreams of my toil.

 

as I showered clean and fell

like a fleshy tree with yesterday’s make up

still clinging

beating self-loathing with sleep,

I woke a decade later,

a slim shadow free

and wish that the old me knew

what I had starved to learn-

I smile and think,

I don’t even have a picture

to remember all this by.

Cinderella Situation

 

 

there is something

totally unnerving to me

about a single abandoned shoe

in a parking lot.

 

where is the other one?

 

where is the foot- the owner?

 

when did this happen?

 

did the person have to hobble off?

 

They had to notice they lost a

shoe, right?

 

was it a Cinderella situation?

did someone race home before midnight-

lest be shamed?

would it be best if I tried the rottenflop

on every maiden’s foot in the land?

 

was the person kidnapped?

were they forcefully abducted and

torn away from this life-

into a sack,

calling the four walls of a car trunk

home?

are they waiting for a chance of escape

or

for the final release from ongoing pain

and terror

forever unknown to me?

 

so many damn questions

but the intrigue, it lingers-

 

did the person lose it out of a moving

car?

kicked their leg in summer bliss to the beat of song

and laughed about it later,

 

or

 

was someone fed up with the ill-fitting shoe

and chucked it,

and are now being forced to wear a mismatched pair

now that the anger has worn off

and the embarrassment has set in?

 

was the person crazy?

one of the many escaped or released patients

from the blocks and blocks of hospitals downtown

frothing with fading restraining medication,

and frenzied with schizo motivation-

barking at people in a single scuffed shoe-

 

I just realized that I still haven’t left my

car,

and have been only staring at this damn flip flop-

for a time longer than anyone should, but

 

it looks…chewed?

 

Is the owner even still alive?

 

Ladybum

 

ladybum intimidates

wandering in the median

body bent,

hair coarsely pulled in crooked pony tail.

what happened to your face?

were you born that way?

with cupped hands, pleading-

stopping my car at the intersection,

driver’s side window-

my trying to be cold but guiltily relenting

people are watching and

what will they think?

your crazy eyes pierce me desperately

wild emotion and

something once described to me as crocodile tears-

Tensely clutching the steering wheel,

hastily scooping change and used fuses

to pour them into your hands

wishing you away-

some kinda spell of some halfhearted charity.

depart depart leave my pity intact

so that I don’t see myself

in the gaps of your missing teeth.

the guilt you spill

making my heart heavy

like a gull in petroleum.

I still see you from time to time

and resentfully I examine you,

ladybum-

bent body, missing chin and Baba Yaga legs.

thinking you some kind of witch,

avoiding you like

cracks in the sidewalk.