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Showing posts from November, 2014

No, I Will NOT Take a Shit-Selfie For You

You are not a viper but you play one
in my heart
sick

ive not known many men. In theory ive known hundreds, thousands, all grossed, rotten and boored. All vile. All of my choosing, so vulgar.How I become what I believe myself to be
with them
the thrill of their ugly: how they grasp.So desperate.Like my skin can grant them peace, my tits and cunt able to quiet the echo of their father’s endless insults.Such intensity. That’s how they come at me.That’s how I love.
There’s a change but
there is not.
It’s a wavering.Handholds appear and I climb.So much promise up top.A shouting down. “You can do it!”The crevasse is black and the voice encouraging.A glimpse of warm sunlight so I climb.
If your feet fill with jiggers, I will be there to scrape them.Pull over on the highway when the screams get too loud.Send me a beacon and I will come with my scalpel.If you give permission I will drag you from the car and lay you down on wet grass.I will call the villagers to watch.They must learn how to s…

Grub Hub

Do you know the heat off me?I want a rubbing.There is a clandestine.It shimmers inside me.I can fill a vase with it. A cabinet.
This week, a warp.I don’t know where it went. How it got swallowed.All I know is that it happened and it was real.Tangible in the meat of my thighs.The cripple of my walk.  The new waitings.  A giant bottle of wine losing its full.
This is how you come down.
This is how you shade things away.A hand covering eyes.
I am not sure where I am, where I want to be. Nor do you.It’s a guessing game.Who put me in the circle?I am in the circle. Where and why the circle?
Momma, be proud of me? You proud of me momma?Yer daughter. Here she is.There she’s going.Love me momma.Prouda me momma.

I Think We're Scared Again

The house is as quiet as it wants to be and it wants to be very quiet.It mimics the outside where the zombie apocalypse has taken place.Nothing out there but dead people and dead leaves.Everything wet and gray but shellacked with a fine, crystal finish.There’s a shine to it that reflects the sun.The silent outside makes the inside that much quieter.I am a bull inside its china shop.I stomp around in my slippers.
I cannot make breakfast in the quiet.After many phone calls they arrive.I buzz them in; singularly and in groups.I show them into the living room, kitchen, dining room and ask them to get comfortable.They begin their warm-ups.Guitars, harmonicas, and horns fill the house.I sigh, relieved there is noise.
I tell them to begin when they are ready.Show them the corner they can play in.I set up a few chairs so they can play sitting down if they want.I tell them to work out amongst themselves who will play first and who will play next and so on.One of the men tells me, “The Blues a…