>untitled 112720102142, draft

>on eight purple post-it notes
i sketch the sure sound of my heel
striking the rug / yr scampering heartbeat escapes
and climbs beside my eye, into my ears
fills my lungs. i’ll try to keep my cup
far enough from, i have proven ruin
so i’m unable to promise this spill.

[posted 11272010 – revised 11302010]

>untitled 101120101104

>sour, profitless things
cat hair, drifting clumps of dog
when my lover wakes soft and unwashed
she tosses my cover to the floor

she partitions, in other words.

brushes her teeth, applies a mask
washes her face then anoints the map
like a slippery film, guaranteeing breath
when miles from the unmade mess she
strikes a flint and sparks the slick veneer

pain makes her proud.

it’s fine to walk to slivers
of yellow and pockets of red
to market, bank and cafe, never pointing
the bally of tourists on its way

“the snake oil,” whispers each wryly visitor
“tames her violet scarring;” now toils
she sniffs her way uptown
such thick lids and eyes quick to boil

“she gets around.”

and then, at night,
wish out the light and reapply her face,
place each piece beside each piece
precisely where each piece belongs

she partitions the pain that makes her proud
she gets around, for me she got around
stands up, looks up at her feet, the visitors
in this crowd help keep the scarring down.

>Improv for My Pet Ostrich

>yr wide eyes would know beyond this here doorframe
if yr head was yr only; yesterday the sky is clear and blue
each cloud throws blocks; blocking, each cloud spins across
a definite line, parallel yet flagging above the horizon
like a thread, loosed from the loose hem hanging off
the shoulder of an expensive navy jacket,that you’ll
never ever see.

nah, you miss it completely.

>Ars G., 110420101035

>At the top of the stair
As sure as the outreached hand
Is collared and wet
Cold to the freckle on his wrist
He’s sure Laughter is half down the stair
And that apparition fingering the doorbell
Would serve cause better completely ignored.

>rough draft, 102820101655

>i know or do not know you
beside the heft of your legs
& knit-black stockings; i do not
need nor save need in the glut,
the choking overabundance(: starts
the pulse feather, quick scrape
over the hall of tongue; cough
rich with purpose, the body, harmony
a wallet full between my legs; cough
again a selfish exhaling as if
peering through a mirror through a mirror)
of gastric detail.

Staring palms
accepting
his comfort
fingers
reddening the thigh
flesh
on flesh.