Sunday, May 23, 2010


People carry flowers into burning houses
your intentions seem clear all the time
just look at the pink burst into flames.
All the sleepy features of Sunday things
on your breath in such a way that I am here
to wrap meat in when I need you to do that.
Settle the score with your neighbors
bring flares and limp with no one but you.
The memory of all you all the time now even when the racket
even when the warmth of your organs excites
people now heaving and labored how silly
to remember my hand on your belly
that stuff I am trying to forget everything
that made no sense then and even less now.
A thigh with thick muscles pierced
above me late into the night. Limbs strewn
by a chopstick no closer to this than you.
No one jumps to attention when you enter
on the floor, damp and curled the pages
on acid or fungus in your brain, your mind.
I'm not down with the room because
there is no room for you. The sad way you fill
your days and still no one comes home to you
no one holds you up to the light in such a way
that you feel observed by a third party-you have
to pay someone for that and that's cool.
Make your gas blankets and let the drawings serve as
reminders I'll never step on those flowers
with you again- not for nothing oh just go away.


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