Petal Song

wait
piano keys are softly falling
on my fingers

breath
tiny breath that tickles eyelash hairs
sparkles between words

stop
I thought I heard you singing
was it just the evening

hold
wrap my hair around your arm
cut a piece for you

drop
drips the pearls of rain
along her nose

you
you are silver lilac in the summer
bathing me in your perfume

here
here is where I love you
in my little ways

41.

she has bones that crack and fracture
tracing feathered fissures up the lengths

she has blood that leaks and ribbons
out of her and into my wrist veins

she has skin that crawls and shimmers
glowing pale blue in the morning light

she has fingernails that break and slice
cutting sculptures into marbled me

she has eyes that burn and twist
like darker flames licking her eyelashes

she has hair that whips and curls
tangling into the stitches in my palms

she has feet that bleed and ground her
padding mulch and fallen leaves

she has breath that sweetly poisons and invites
like nectar from a honey flower’s vine

she has muscles that tear and roll
squeezing every string of sinew through their seams

she rains over me
a hurricane of black and gray
with perfumed water droplets

and she stares with mirror eyes
mirror armor stretched across her chest
mirrored back at me

and I am everything she has
and I want everything she is

40.

I won’t ever be
the cornerstone
on which you rely
when storms shake

I’ll be shaking, too

my arms are weak
from pulling
my own weight up
the staircase and

I’m still prone to falling (hard)

but I can fall into
your bed
and lie with you
and catch some leaking raindrops
on my tongue

I can grow flowers for you
from the bottoms of my toes
and keep them certain colors
chocolate brown and gray
to match your eyes

maybe sometimes
I can hold you
when you shiver
in the wind (though
I’ll be freezing, too)

and some nights
I’ll be too cold
to open my fingers
and reach for you
and maybe you
could be there
with a chilly palm
of your own

39.

I have stopped seeing, only blurs and shifts remain
I have stopped feeling
echoes pounding through my arms and legs
of things that were once alive
I have stopped
I have stopped

yes, my eyes are shifting in and out
of clarity and blackness
I’m sorry, Mama, I’m sorry
I tried

I tried to keep my fingers crossed
and breathe clean air
but I keep smoking, smoking
tearing my skirts and my legs
and letting go

I know you wanted me to hold on
but my fingers grew so tired,
so

tired

and they slipped, and I fell.
I couldn’t help it.
and all I have left is
repeating
repeating
while I think
while I think
of something to say

I just want to sleep, Mama,
can you just put a warm cloth on my head?
but no, that will not do.
I’ve made my bed without you.

I read a book that says that we are right to fall
and I am trying to remember
whether that is true or not
“no one else’s rules” I said
“no more justification”
“no more shame”

but I am brimming now with shame
and I am trying not to be
ashamed
of that

I am hobbling along rough stones
and tripping into bloody knees
and raking gravel across my palms
and I am trying, I am trying
I am trying

please tell me
that is enough
please tell me
you don’t mind reading
another selfish poem

38.

I’ll hide it all inside my web browser
close the window
and swallow it down
hard

Me, I’m a surfer
of the saddest waves
coughing up that stuff
I promised I’d ignore
into the toilet

Saying “no
don’t worry
I’ll be right back.”

It’s not that easy,
No, it’s never that easy.

I keep flushing but
the bowl is overflowing
and my cats are scratching at the door
my hair is soaked with sweat
my breath smells rancid

imissyouimissyouimissyouimissyouimissyou

But Elvis Perkins, baby, you sure calm me down.

So I’ll hide it all inside an iTunes playlist.
burn one down
and give it to you
(don’t you see, and
don’t you see?)

“No, really,
I promise
I’ll be right back.”

Violence is always my answer.
Me, with my broken feet
my broken calves
my broken arms
and I fall into you with
water in my eyes,

helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme

Cutting up my face and hands
to watch the blood flow
down my shoulders,
and god-damn, it’s the
prettiest sight
I’ve ever seen.

“It’s not my dinner
that I’m heaving up,
I swear,
I just don’t feel well.”

I am ugly, bruised
and melting
into lovely gold-cured mead.

“I promise, really,
I will be right back.”

37.

baby it’s only 11:30
take the pressure off

baby it’s only 11:30
it’s not tomorrow just yet

baby it’s only 11:30
it’s all gonna be okay

just keep listening
just keep breathing
just keep going
baby
it’s only 11:30
it’s not all over yet
baby
don’t lose hope just yet
baby
it’s only 11:30
don’t be afraid

36.

She dug down deep inside her shadowed places
and pulled a tiny pebble from the cracks.
She named it after her favorite song,
and polished it until it glowed a opalescent blue,
and placed in it her shirt pocket for safekeeping.

She ran it through her fingers often,
fastened it to her wallet,
stretched it into string,
wore it as a necklace,
watched it sink and float,
tied it in her hair,
smushed it into glue.

She loved the way it smelled,
loved the way the turquoise glittered on her face.

"I'll keep you," she said.
"Yes.
I think I will."

35.

I spoke with Death
last Saturday.
We shared a cup of tea.
He shook my hand,
and kissed my cheek,
and complimented me.

I told him that
I liked his suit.
He asked me for a light.
We sat and smoked
all afternoon,
into the coming night.

And when we paused,
he gave a sigh,
and smoothed his pearly hair.
He asked me why
I'd stopped to talk
and sip tea with him there.

I told him I'd
grown tired of life,
and longed for sweet release.
He answered, "And you
think that I
can offer you some peace."

I said, "I do."
And Death sat back,
and settled in his chair.
He thought a moment,
took a drag,
and met my puzzled stare.

He said, "My dear,
you've got me wrong."
I asked him what he meant.
"I cannot give you quick relief.
I'm wild and permanent."

He said, "I'm messy,
crude, and sharp.
I often make mistakes.
I'll hurt the ones you
love the most.
There's far too much at stake."

I thought on what
he said a while,
stamped out an ashy butt.
I said, "But someday,
you'll come back
for me no matter what."

"Indeed," he said.
"Someday I will.
But not today, I fear.
My brother, Life,
has told me I'm
to let you linger here.

"He says you've mountains,
book, and nymphs,
you've secrets left to keep.
He said that after
all this time,
you still have tears to weep.

"I'll come for you,"
Death said to me,
"but breathe until I do.
For gods and angels
without breath
are envious of you."

And so, with that,
Death took his leave.
A graceful thing he was.
I gathered up my
coat, and left,
with blood and brain abuzz.

And now, some mornings,
when I wake
to see the grassy dew,
I think of those who
draw free breath,
and I am jealous, too.

34.

To hell with all these love poems
I don't need a hero
I need a bitch
I need a drug

You can keep your white, your sweet
I want black hearts
I need malice
I need cruelty

Don't hold me down in linen sheets
Pick me up and pull me away
Run me over
Beat me up

I don't need a clean new dress
I need a massacre
Get me started
Get me angry

Show me something new
Show me something new
Show me something new
And set me loose

I'll eat you up, I love you so

33.

If I get blood on you,
then I am sorry.
I never meant to stain your dress
(but I can't help it)
My bones are fractured, limp
and I walk slowly.
But part of me now holds out hope
that you can mend me.
I'd like for you to hold my hair, my hands,
and braid them gently.
Even though they're wet with vomit, slick,
and dripping on you.
You are a lovely girl
with arms of silver,
And life has not yet done with you the things
it has with me, dear.
I see the way you look at me.
I think I scare you.
You see the exposed sinew in my wounds
and stagger backwards,
And I must say, I cannot blame you, but
I wish you'd stay here.
For though my heart is broken already,
I'd like to offer you the rest of me.

A Love Song to Mr. Hughes

My little white ass
wants you, Langston,
baby,
Langston, I want you.

Your cotton field streets
of Harlem
baby,
upset me, Langston,
you make me squirm.

(and I like it, I like it)

Those Weary Blues are
gorgeous sultry black
inside my eyes, my ears
and Langston,
baby,
I want it all.

And maybe I am
problematic, maybe,
maybe I objectify you(r
blackness) with this,
Langston,
but oh, all that I can be is
honest! Honest, I can't help it
honestly, I just, I
want you, Langston,
baby!
Langston, I want you!

These white walls,
this white skin,
my paler classmates
university-fed
on fresh grass clippings
lamp post songs
electropop
(but that is pretty,
too, I know)
and yes,
in here,
I want you.

My little white ass
wants you,
Langston,
wants your contrast
up against my skin,
my words,
my queer, your black,
I want you, Langston.
I want you.

32.

I want your shadows
I want your nasty, ugly, gross
I want your muck and mire

I want the things you've killed and buried
I want the curses you've made
I want the fires you've started

I want your fear
I want your shame
I want your weakness

I want the things you hate
I want the promises you broke
I want the tears you swallowed down

I want your regrets
I want your rock bottom
I want your suicide

And I will take them all
And wrap them in my sweater
And call them beautiful.

31.

My old rival Shame
sits closely in my skin
and peers out through my eyes
and holds my fingers from the inside.

"Listen, listen here," she says
"I told you. Didn't I tell you?"

She creeps down in my shoes
and moves my feet
when I'm not careful
And even when I am,
even when I watch and wait,
I'll glimpse a shadowed leg,
turn my head to catch
a scaled backbone
rounding the corner

And I will say, "Hello? ...Is that you?"

And she says, "Yes, my pretty girl.
I am here."
and all goes quiet.

I'd like to sit and have a cup of tea with her,
but I am afraid
of what she might look like
in the light

For I have felt her serpent fingers
gently coil around my throat
and I have heard a hissing sound
within my ribcage
(and I suspect it is Her)

Her temper spans deserts
kicks up windstorms
stings my eyes
holds me down
and I am buried in a dune again
relieved of the burden
of breathing.

And when I lay me down to sleep,
she curls inside the bedclothes
holds me from behind
and whispers
"Do you remember?
Oh, don't you remember?"

She shields me from unwanted light
helps me keep my wits about me
reminds me of important things
(like how my legs feel
when they're spread wide open)
ugly things I've shared with her in confidence
She is smarter than I am, you see
and cunning

I want to tell her that I love her
that everything is safe now
that she can come out now
from the shadows
if she wants

But when I try to find her
she moans a low and angry sound
grows bigger, darker
Thunderheads roll down Her arms
Sheets of rain hurl from Her back
and She booms,
"Remember?
Oh, don't you remember?"

and I remember
why I always
let her speak
for me

30.

I write in poems now; I think in iambs left to right.
And when I speak to you, they're flowers coming from my lips, not words.
The kisses I might plant will be perfumed and inked, and I will write them down on paper afterward.