slow summer

There is nothing sweet about the way that he is
playing the piano upstairs, it sounds
like the cruel abuse of keys,
black with decay or molding white.

Glass crackled with spindly frailties
hangs from the ceiling,
holding light.

Sometimes I can scarcely think of
one
person
that I would like to know.

Words like chalk
dry the cavern
of my metaphorical
mouth.

I think in fact:

That I could love you all summer long.

(There is a terrific lack
of luck
in your life

which your round jade
eyes belie.)

I am very fond of other losers.

We who keep tripping
and eating shit.

(What was Quite Pretty --for
a moment--
has grown ugly.
Is that
something?)

I looked at rugs today,
and didn’t buy one.

I spoke despite
my vague disinclination.

You told me, you said, "After I left here,
your house, last week, I wrote a poem.
It was about leaving your house, and
leaving here."

I think that I may wish that
things were not just a little bit
different but very--

just for a moment to watch
that notion dance.

I Don't Or Do

I Don’t Or Do

What is the shape of your eyes, that strange
sacred geometry, I saw them staring, as if
starved or somewhat evil,
and not for me.

And I’m not a virgin, not
without jealousy, I don’t or do adore to be
waiting, I don’t or do simply want to be worshiping
a vestal worshiping
a wild improbability.

In the Bible you were Jacob’s favorite wife.
His hands ever undeserving to be lost in the cotton
of your hair. To anticipate your hidden thighs,
not the warm granite I have pounded upon, rested
a teary cheek on, spoken softly to, and never won,
immobile in the sun. In the Bible
you were Jacob’s favorite wife.

Tiny and winged and every bone in my ribcage
is dry with devotion. I will not die for lack of your
lapis veins but would be slightly less corporeal.
Tap out the constellation of Leo.

It will blink, propitious neon green.
I will come free your limbs
from what could hardly be called garments.

three

Lust

Scare me, all that lies in wait, scare me with your sweet little hands, your chest’s little cage, your little feet, sweet eyes, I saw them stare desirous, not for me. Scare me with your inhale and your exhale. In the Bible you were Jacob’s favorite wife. He wanted his hands in your hair, the warmth of thighs. In the Bible you were Jacob’s favorite wife. I danced with you, I wondered what you thought. I lost control of my motions as my senses took you in. But couldn’t keep you. You were tiny and winged, you barely touched my palm and then you were gone. In the Bible you were Jacob’s favorite wife. Let me know when you are ready. Tap out the constellation of Leo. It will blink, propitious neon green. I will come free your limbs from what could hardly be called garments.



Devotion

Last night I had a dream that when you stopped fucking me, you started fucking someone else. And with her, you could really fuck. You weren’t paralyzed by depression. You weren’t the warm granite that I pounded on, rested my cheek upon, spoke softly to, day after day after day after day. Your name was Lucien. My heart broke. She had beautiful auburn hair, long as a Monday. With her you were free. My heart broke like a glass bone.



Contempt

This is not a dream. You are getting drunk. You are taking my clothes off. I am limp, like a doll, the unloved kind. You stare at my naked body. You are fully clothed. You push my legs apart as if they do not have nerves and stare at my vagina like you are trying to find the light at the end of a tunnel. You throw me over your lap and spank my ass with all of your body strength, ten, twelve times. I stop counting. My body goes numb. In my head I say NO NO NO NO NO and STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP. My mouth is full of chalk. You have a hammer on your bookshelf and I fear it. When you have put my clothes back on, you say, “Welcome back to the world of the living, if you’re ready.” I grab the hammer and try to kill you with my eyes, but you don’t die or even disappear. I just stand, holding the hammer, and I hate you. You are the passing stranger who has murdered the childhood of my heart. You are the teacher that taught me that I cannot trust anyone.

love is dumb, death is imminent. death is dumb, love is imminent.

imminent