Sending poetry to the world
some people say
“the die is cast”
when they should say “I have taken my turn,
I have made my bed,
and must now lie down to rest
with all these decisions.”
each minute my hair greys, I can either
believe the earth spins in dark space alone or
expel hot air into a spring blue sky with purpose.
i am
a predator
beside a frozen lake
masquerading as an ocean
[we are all so phony]
slinking up to frozen fingers of light
lips licked in luscious anticipation
one ship one mile out is
my only witness
and it is too frozen in place
to stop me, or care.
the me in gasoline on water is a rainbow
of potential sliding around, skimming the tops, spreading then
unraveling with every
exhale of the Bay
shape shifting like a scream
my perplexed smirk distorted then tortured
and mad in the only possible way
the slick bird above me
purple to orange to blue to barely discernible shine –
oh shine on, you gull, shine on
free from such thin and colorful prisons as this.
open door –
heaving
chest, it is heavy
like so many piles
of sand, what was once
beautiful becomes
a darkness smothering,
choking
like how fish
die such gruesome deaths,
-slam the door closed.
relentless in their pursuit —
they, so stealth, bait
us with doubt, claw us with question.
it’s not enough to simply wake,
brush teeth and hair,
and sit calmly legs folded in the jungle.
the tiger waits, whispering, “you are all
too slow and too tubby and
too perfect to eat.”
he, exasperated: how many
times
must i say you’re beautiful?
she hears: full
and it
creeps over her
like an enervating sickness
ravaging
the weak.
florescent light
oh the longer i stare at you
the more the cubicles in front me
pulse
and jive
does anyone else
feel that they’ve already died?
floating above it all
like a florescent light
incandescent orbit
of an out of body zealot
reticent under duress.
long graceful fingers
naked
and growing like ivy
up pale cheekbones
leaving only the eyes
intent
do you ever
look in the mirror
and feel that fear –
climbing vine of panic
choking
which hands are real?
the longer you stare
the more those leaves of
nerves pressing
belong to someone else
the more those eyes
grow sparkling in wicked
suspicion.
repetition has a certain pathetic
ring
and an affinity
for short panicked breaths
tightening chest
then a
fistful of hair pulled
desperate.
if i told you
all these things
i was lying
if i told you
i was affected
lying too.
repetition that
two-faced vilian.
practice makes perfect
and this…
this…
a tick burrowing in.
in a sequins
glitter hangover
your Bowie star
wilts over your eye
shutting it
and your leggings
tug and pinch
in a nag
if you could eat
it would be M&Ms
and cheese
but you can’t –
it’s much too much
for one reduced to
gold and stardust
to one so
fashionably
smudged.
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