| | your empty salad sandshake touched me.
with teary eyes and whispers of unhearable longings
{I stretch}
I tried to trample, tried to sample
three shades of regret.
salt shaker, moon breaker, I keep all my seams
intact and slightly stitchy, cold fingers growing itchy
with black reminders, fervor for failure, touched atrophy
tasted delight with lemon cream
boring out what lay between,
those sheets of paper plastic. Fat, and happy figures of
the cardboard cutout universe. Shadows on the wall
dance and flicker, ever-bicker, never touch the
morning liquor, never touch to see the fall, maybe they
should have it all, if only they could form the taste,
salivate in their disgrace, and walkabout with dusty
face. Empty-headed headaches, feeling like a pulse of
arbitrary and flavorless brain solutions. Saline dreams, tie
me up with rubber tubing. Stick a feather
into my arm, drain me of my sticky ichor. Two
to breathe and I'll take that lost chance. Touch absurd
and your fingers will stick, for a week or three.
(and) Tell me, would you bleed for me?
{I retch}
It's taken, soft lime taste-ing, mind
arrange and thought-erasing paint-y, please-y,
never-tease-me torturings of stitches
I have long outgrown. And long I played,
sticky-fingered, into your hands. Into your heart. Into your
arms. Push me away, please! I cannot take the luxury, your
company. The sidelong sighs and lost goodbyes.
Stretch marks whisper to my eyes, and I squint to my
past. I bite lips, my own this time, and savor
reason. Turtle doublets echo laughter, screaming that
the rhyme come after.
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| | Posted 7/17/2009 8:49 PM - 4 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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