If I could throw up

If I could throw up so completely
that my body turned inside out

so violently
that the wet membranes inside of me

touched the cold wind out here
If I could vomit myself empty

so that outside and inside
matched

maybe, I hope, or anyway, possibly
metaphorically or in my psyche anyway

perhaps the sensitive thin skin in my stomach
could feel something,

anything-- could be real
or I could be seen

and not hated, but pitied, first
then loved

and, God, if only, then, maybe
I could feel that love.

Sonnet, Papa.

I hunt you with the hot globe,
Papa-- bloodshot, misty malted breath--
Sorrow's child, weak and frightened, left.
Both tears and fire from one stomach’s pit cannot be forged
Around the world I stalk the Effigy,
Papa-- gods, professors, presidents and popes.
Hate burns beyond your single slurried trope;
A cosmic weapon hate has smelt in me.
When Fate is kneeling by your bed of death
Your jaundiced body, newborn-like, perfumes
With nurturing fragrances my cooling breath;
Unsettled Earth enfolds your heart and mine exhumes.
A hunter subsists, too, on victims made;
Our heritage haunts from graves where hunters lay.

The Heart Beats

 

 

a balloon lashed

in oak ribs

--crack--

the fantasy bids

faintly, while the fantasy lasts

out-reaching

looks merely a restrained

sigh

the look of recovery a pained

shrinking

 

 

 

 

 

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Hourglass

Sometimes when I lie awake at night
                I think about the                       graphite under my skin



from when I was just starting out in school
                                                                                    No. 2 pencils
were handy and
razor blades
were harder to come by                          I hadn't started shaving yet


Everyone I meet thinks it's a mole.


Sometimes when I lie awake at night
            I think about the                                             food I ate


and when I ate it and if I ate it  at a different time
                would I not be getting so                                 fat?


No matter how much I weigh everyone tells me I look great.


Sometimes when I lie awake at night
       I think about opening the                                     
        passenger side door on                                          the 15

Some childhood dreams persist. at least
                                                                                         I can find
some solace in this


Everybody admires my daydreaming.

Music Literature Poem

Petite feuille
Sur le vent fier
Sans arbre
Pour l'adorer

Watching You

watch you take a shot, pace, collect fragments of intermixed sentences in a heap

wave goodbye and get scared for you

watch you rattle out confessions of abuse
like a snake twisting off skin
--you're the skin--

hear how strong you are how strong
you are how strong

you are
straightening your bow tie buttoning your shirt

get ready for work and think of you

hold the room together while it spins around you

watch you reach to crawl, crumple, fall

Petite Poésie

Un bateau n'est pas la Mer--
Ne confondez pas l'un pour l'autre.

Si vous êtes Baleine,
Ne coupez pas vos palmes

Et les hissez dans les airs.