Tuesday, November 17, 2009

last night, i traveled to france
under my eyelids. It was green
all those rich shades of it
that makes cities seem poor
and there was a pool
with swim lanes
separated by mini-pirate ships

I wanted to go anywhere. I jumped
and realized I was naked. AH!

These are part of me-
(like my runny nose ands eyeballs)
shame, self-consciousness,
forgetting what's expected of me,
and wanting to shed everything and jump
headfirst into a beauty
that doesn't exist.

Two things
you made two things
a mess
and broccoli leek soup

you can't afford art supplies
so you use food stamps
you can't write poems
so you make monster creations
and cook them up

you fingers want to type so they chop
you eyes want to frame a picture
so they watch the pot.
Follow recipes like the rules of a sonnet
pinch syllable or two.

You shove your free verse
pecan biscuits at me:
you don't say
"eat my art"
but it would be true.

Romance is on a diet
no longer the large belly full of private dinners
tipsy from the cocktails
heavy makeup to impress
and flesh full of lovebites

She eats a salad at work
washes your dishes
picks up your pens and paper
holds you, nude, for the few moments
before your eyes clothes

Every now and then,
she looks at old pictures of herself,
letters and gifts you'd given

before she can tear up
(romance shouldn't snivel,
she should weep gloriously-
or not at all)

she lights a candle
dims the lights
and waits.

She dreams of
gorging on you
till her heart explodes
but she can't find her appetite.

and besides
there's no time.

We rode our bikes
you me dad mom
to a festival for honey

who knew there were so many hills
in iowa, your dad
laughed at me

when the fresh honey poured out
of that big black machine
i was tempted to stick my face in it
so i stuck my finger

the sweet taste in your mouth
is always your secret
I kissed you with tongue to get

courage to take a picture
really really close
of the man with bees

on his face, totally covered
and there were bees crawling on me
but I was so far from my mom, the east coast,
your home, and that bad sting in 7th grade

I didn't run or scream
and you laughed at me
and I thought, fuck it
and laughed too.

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