The thing is really, just to be meaningful. Maybe you find me stuck, needle in the groove, popping out this thing about authenticity. Maybe you'd like to break me over your knee. Maybe you like the sound of my beat. But this is my finger to lips routine. I've never appreciated the solo performance, except for that time I saw Liza at the Cow Palace ( Read more... )

Then, okay. Forty or so hours together. There are some eyes to keep, wilted cotton colors I want to trace my finger around. Kind, checkered hearts beating beneath thin, lambing breastbones. There is a breathing, steady bleating. Streamers tied from handlebars. There are things I want to keep. Show and tell, and me do, me do ( Read more... )

I was thinking that you might say, the weight of it in my hand or something also like muscles that ache with memories of this kind of insistence. Arms on fire from all of the reaching and pulling and pushing. Heart billowing.

I was thinking that you might say, softly singing, urgent winging and then sensibly appear, a giant at my door, rough ( Read more... )

roseisblue
and skiesfalldown.
whenher eyes
shutimelt
and myworld
goesround.

roseiloveyou
and iambereft.
ibidyou
fare well
withmy
hand kerchief.

I was thinking, each silver ring joined to the next. I am thinking, in the corner. Little box, gracious winged insect. You, and what you'll know of me. Someday, down to my every pore. My wings are like a construction-paper heart affixed to my back, and about as effective. But this is a practiced smile, put here by funeral processions, leather ( Read more... )

Little tying-down creature. I love the way your mouth shapes words, so much that meaning or sound could be completely lost and there would be enough, your lips grasping an "o" or your tongue tapping a "t." Things you tie me to, ways I am bound up in you ( Read more... )