Remember Not to Sniff Your Hands on the Playground, Though

I’m trying to figure out what my hand smells like.
There is a sort of sleeping
like you’re dead.
You fall asleep crumpled like a tissue
that’s been asked to hold
too much snot
and wake up with your eyes
crusted shut
which is pleasing in the same strange way
as asparagus pee.
My hand smells like semen
but I have not had contact with a cock
in months. I’m trying to figure out
what I’ve eaten for breakfast that might smell
like semen.
It’s amazing how you can scratch at the day.
Can chip away the minutes
like biting a piece of almond roca
and then stopping after you bite
to look at it.
It’s amazing how a day keeps passing,
you keep fake smiling, keep replying
to questions, folding laundry,
talking to mothers on the playground
about play dates and unsatisfactory performances
of first grade teachers while inside
your chest
your heart is being squished
the same way you’ve heard breasts get squished
when a woman has a mammogram,
equally humiliating.
It’s funny the disrespect of the world
turning, the sun shining, the birds
singing, the trees budding
with new spring flowers
when your heart
is so
fucking
broken.
Maybe it was the toaster waffle
or the eggs?

Sonnet for Patience in Love

While corresponding in clandestine code
is fitting fodder for a girlish blush,
when speaking of a love not yet bestowed
I cannot say a thing but “Darling hush”.
A woman who is fragile and alone
learns quickly that she can’t bequeath her trust
to any man affectionate in tone
where hidden lies but greed and petty lust.
But if you’ll let me speak with you as friend
and keep your patience for a little bit
in time my heart will surely come to mend
and then my adoration I’ll admit.
So Darling while your words make my heart race
tread lightly when pursuing my embrace.

Bond

There is a room.
Just a room with a bed, a television,
a small refrigerator,
a table and a telephone.
A few steps away there is a bathroom
with a tub
and a sink
with a large mirror
above it.

His trip was long and she’s
bathed him, hands brave
but shaky, eyes
hungry for his skin.

In bed, breeze sneaking
in beneath closed
curtains, she
trembles
and parts
her self
for him
as he
slides
his hand
into
her
brand-new
panties.

sometimes it’s nice to listen to The Pixies

My Sister Says, In Movies, A Person’s True Love Walks Into Their Lives in Slow-Motion

The day you left,
we spent the last hour
in a bookstore.
I hunted for a poem
I wanted to show you, maybe
to keep my brain working
at something other
than grief, or maybe
I was grasping for beauty.
Either way, it felt important
to me.
There had been rain
that day, and a bicycling accident,
we glanced
to our left
at the bicyclist lying in the road,
hurt but okay, as we walked
down the sidewalks
of the city
I call home.
Later, I drove the wrong way
down a one way street.

The day you came
I must have visited
The bathroom mirror twenty-
five times to check how my ass
looked in those jeans, fluff
my hair, look for smeared mascara
under my eyes.
It was still summertime.
I had painted my toenails
bright red.
While waiting, I talked
to some man, bearded
and overweight, about the book
I was reading but not reading.
I’d have to re-read
An entire chapter after
You left.
I couldn’t hold still.
My right leg bounced
up and down up and down.

Hiding behind
a brick pillar, I watched you
walk into my life. I watched you
walk into my life
in slow motion.

Carter

He asks
When you die
what animal do you want
to come back as?
An otter
I answer.
He says
Me too. I want
to come back as an otter.
Otters are cute.
Otters have a lot
of fun
right mom?
I smile
and say yes.
Taking my hand,
eyebrows furrowed,
he says
When I come back
As an otter,
I want to live with you,
okay mom?
Okay, I say
and smile.
Okay
He says.

jesus god what was i thinking…

so I finally acquired

Daft Punk’s Alive 2007 and well…

…it’s fucking addictive.  whoa.

download it.  right now.  seriously.  then quit your job.  quit your life.