admit

im certain i wont hate you tomorrow
and that scares me
a georgia o'keefe spread out on the floor
in the foyer
bleeding carcass
life
without vulva
a memory we all forget about
turning our fork in our spaghetti
like he did
with his arthritic fingers
smiling
toothless
with love
a grin now ashes in  box
in a cemetery
we live in beds
that will never provide comfort
rusty nails on sternums
that i tried to scrape off
treading on his world
barns dilapidated
showering my thighs
blood on drains
lyndon johnson
pbs
milk crate seating
vinyl pulled out
wrecking hard wood
with needles
and bottle caps
milky moon beam centuries
ask him to say something else
kittens congregate outside the basement door
egg chair
wishlist
cure me cure me cure me
sun also rises
when it doesnt
leaves in piles
smokestacks
blame your father for breaking your face
i wanted to too
blame your father
not break your face
all the time
scrabble
throw the table
so drunk there's no tomorrow
just an endless stream of yesterday
piling up and making noise
with makers
denied
bulletproof
blankity blank
green motorcycle in your dining room
tetanus in your orgiastic admission
that you were in love with grace
katherine
who dug out a tree
for a canoe
sucking off her fathers best friend
telling you
one day some day lets day we day fuck day grace day
bonfires
redheads
a hammock in your bedroom
fingers in knots
sometimes revealing love
other times
dont react
and come to
knee deep in the stream
throwing rocks back at the shore
my mother let me do that when i was young
some mothers didnt
what's it gonna hurt she'd say
define it hurts
jury is out til noon
eating mangoes
with lizzards gordy drove across country
begging christy to go too
and i said girl dont
all the while folding your cargo pants
waiting to hear your truck pull into the driveway
tiny pussies flattened
sylvia plath isnt romantic
except when it is
a thousand poems written
on  asbestos
pink panther falling out
one dog
two dog
three dog
go
god
doesn't know it
but im getting in

nothing profound

There is nothing profound about the way he speaks to me
pieces of broken experiences patched together with lie &
specific quotes that hold no relevancy

unless you want to let her know you wont be okay
and can't tell her straightforward
on a phone
or to her face

a child
without apology
ready to be let go

distraction

drawl with
sudden changes
the mange is
taking its hold on my
heals with his hands
down the best lover i ever had

november

i wake up
to strange comforts
familiar in their distance
dependent on nothing making sense
and reviving it every single morning for consistency
something to hold onto, over his head, so that when im ready to leave
i can say you did this

not inspired. seeking.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKtBAzZo_nk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tUiP5eyx3NM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0lebGWK_3M

turning him into nothing

grinding roots
ripping off the petals
smothering the potential of everything
because it has been nothing
my mother a goose
rotting on nests abandoned
begging her babies
to remember she hurts inside

wednesday

love comes in the form of drunken hardwood floors
sloppy tongues
mishandled words
and an appreciation for the art of falling asleep
touching

shift
enter
a test
giving myself
abilities
to do more
for others

city hall and the verge of decisions unkept.... a mother giving herself away.... a fountain dry.... $40 and hope

sd

arms kept folded. dont want to touch. ache growing. eyes clothes. dark stars shimmering. a half hour of marriage.

My Apple

My apple lives on my counter. My mother would make a sour face at that. She needed her fruit in fruit bowls. I do not own a fruit bowl. I dont own the counter either. But I am allowed to use it until the lease expires. My apple is allowed to use it as well. My apple is red. A red delicious. I find that pompous. Arrogant apple. My apple is like a lot of friends I have. Egotistical. Boastful. My apple is sad I have not eaten it. It has been on the counter for 4 days. Growing soft. Weak. Bruising. My favorite part of my apple is it's stem. It has been broken. By me. I snapped it while at the check-out counter. It was gratifying as the woman ahead of me wrote a check. If my apple was in a row of apples I'd know it by the stem. Unless someone else snapped their stem. Then I'd have to hesitate. I call my apple. My Apple. I named it that knowing it would die soon and then I could write sonnets in its name. Oh, My Apple. Reading that fast sounds like a real name, Ohmyapple. I like that. My apple is dependable. I know when I come home from work it will be there. Greeting me. Quietly. It is the quiet type. I like to smile at it when I pass it. Let it know I am considering it, and I am. How do you like those apples? I don't. I like my apple. My apple smells like cider. It's as though it has already been tortured to its pulp and liquefied. It smells familiar. I grew up on an apple farm. I hate picking apples. I love apple juice. I love apple sauce, sweetened. I wish that all apples were free. Mine was free. I stole my apple. My father couldn't eat apples. He lost all his teeth in a car accident in his twenties. He refused to wear false teeth. I don't like how that sounds "wear false teeth." You wear them I guess. But its more of a device to help. I don't "wear a tampon." Internal devices aren't worn. They are used. He refused to use false teeth. The skin of the apple was too tough. He cut them into slices. He put salt on them. That's disgusting. The only tree I have ever successfully climbed was an apple tree. I wish my apple came from that tree. It didn't. It was a great tree. I see it every Easter when I go home. I touch it. I don't climb it. I am afraid to break it. I hope my daughter climbs it. Apples spelled backward is selppa. Sounds like a tea. Selppa tea. Or a backpacking company. Selppa Gear. I'd brand that. Selppa would be written in an apple. An apple that looked just like mine.

in love. trying to fall out.

and im lonelier now. she didnt say to anyone.

schenectady, us

girls in dresses sway around a dead lit living room peanut butter & jelly love one another smile so hard rain drive front row never felt so close hands held lips at ears singing whispering binding sweat rivers down thighs pools of lust and appreciation on aisles meant for dancing we met in a dream ~ i remember where we were standing i remember how it felt 2 little girls growing out of their training bras this little girl breaks furniture, this little girl breaks laws 2 girls together just a little less alone

Warhol is Arrested

He called me from Birmingham Collect 1998 "Jack," he whispered "they are going to keep me a long time...." I laughed Karma massaged my heart And licked my soul Thanking me for my patience

vetting

my ex-husband lives in alabama on an air force base sweeping closets the guns kept out of his sight his eyes glazed singing rainy day women writing me terza rimas that he sends the first of every month with a rent check and an xo xo

cash

on a couch covered in deer skin. eating grilled cheese. the announcement that johnny cash was dead. we held hands. and wept.

i am unfolding.... an origami whore the creases run deep in all the tight little places i keep secret i dont want him or you to know where i bend where i could potentially, break trust no one and take shelter carefully dont get followed home dont kiss goodbye dont spend the night he will only be looking for the lines stealing glances for weak spots figuring out ways to make me into something someone else....i am not smother me until he gets bored and then put me on a shelf to collect dust and resentment stay in stay on keep focused on point touch my own chakras feed my own soul get off on the intimate details only i know about me understand that as i peel away the pieces reveal the secrets, and the insecurities take myself apart i will still BECOME

breaking eve in

draft 1. can't edit yet. it's all about breaking even what's mine is mine, and yours stays yours what we got together well, we'll have to break and split in tiny piles in a dirty hallway lit up by lights your father installed for us when we moved in i carry my things to the u-haul you scream at me i return to get the wine i bought for your birthday (you drank the wine you bought me for mine) you grab my fingers spread wide palms to my chest squeezing tight catching my breath in gasps and fury begging you to love me softer instead of trying to break eve in.

to s.s. when it was supposed to come out

and he just told me his wife was pregnant on the A train going uptown his right leg touched my left his right hand held my left i laughed because that's what i do when things hurt or i am nervous or i am gasping for air grasping for answer he rubs his thumb in circles on the important flesh that connects the thumb to the pointer "it's the thenar," i whisper. he is confused "what is?" i shake his hand out of mine i point to the flesh that connects the thumb to the pointer this. "i didnt know you knew everything." he laughs. i didnt know he was married.