The Hello Fall

Painfully I am attempting to make myself
large

and full of holes

that instead of being tossed
from hand to ambivilent hand I might be

run through

Dear tiresome invertebrate love,

I am still in you

still swim within you

I am simply sober

and no longer know some

"pheromone opiate sting,"

And our hello was murky

as our goodbye

was never drawn

Dear Dissident Sweetheart

At the beginning,
where it hurts,

(not like a slap from a spoon,
I wasn't a bad child, was
too good,) I have scrawled
your name in the sheet of

fog

and been marked by your seal. 

A puncture wound, it hurts
a puncture wound, so beautiful

was it.

The ageless generosity,
gold coin of the moon,
spoke of something of
something-- 

but we
did not
understand.

I had what I have.

Will I always be pulling yellow
hair from my mouth

Always, one old
door creaking 

on some faraway beach

I found another place to fall in love with

and I do,

each day do I

.

?

I found another feeling

new,

a different kind of

wet-eyes,

I am looking

for a way

to destroy

my seething arsenal

of hate.

A way which leaves

minimal dregs,

which wont clout

my atmosphere

over its

lacy little

crown

Flora

When I look for myself I find

that I am sitting
in a bar

with a face which has lost
the energy of expectation,
irises unfocused behind
an opalescent fog,

sipping a tonic through the thin line

of a black straw.

On all sides
surrounded

by my autonomy,
allowing limited discourse.

If you are

a friend

your words feed me orchids.

Without Flora

no impressions

leave watermark.

night desires so much that it desires nothing at all. incalculable sound rushing toward itself from innumerable sources is marked silence. preternatural sadness perhaps is health but is more likely a climatic tragedy. and nobody turns those invaluable inches which would cause their eyes to see another's, fearing to find life there.

I'll understand when I understand.
Not before,
and probably not after.

?

Vague womb mostly
but for its constricting pains
a dozen weeks yearly.

Fig, and figs, and
thick yogurt, and fermented tea,
and thin-
woven black rug beneath the table
which I eat at.

I do not take off the ring
which Anabel gave to me
which was her father's and then
hers and now mine, remove it only
when washing dishes, taking baths.

Pliant tennis shoes perhaps are for running.

The moment has passed over the course
of some months,
or
so

I am bleeding indifferently

or

bleeding with indifference.

I must have a very stupid
face.

I must have a very stupid
face
because I cannot think
of another reason

that I would be taken

for such

a

sod