Strings

my pupils consider you
across the room, wanting
only my legs on your knees,
but you clothe yourself with articles
born in academia (a field in which
  I never quite took root)
so I will be contented
  (almost)
with the curls of hair that fall
away from me across
your face, and wisps of birdsong
winding into my ears:
ribbons you have written
on my teeth, harmonies
that bear my name, and bare
your skin

I will wait for darkness
to bathe your neck and shoulders
and pull the strings of you
into my arms

88.

Break me open and pull the sinew from beneath
my skin. Have at me – crack my ivory ribs
and reform them into growth and change.
The sound in your ears is my blood
slowing from my veins to yours, creating canyons
in our bones that smell like salt and rose water.
Bring something bright and pulsing
into my beating heart; plant a creeping vine
inside my feet and let it wind into my hair.
I want to be torn apart and rebuilt
in your image.

87.

You are blurry inside my eyes but
I can feel you with my other
four senses, and I know you are
here. Remain inside me, remain
outside me. I will miss you when you are
gone. Remain with me and I will
see you clearly, perhaps
for the first time.

86.

River smell.
I miss your shape and form
when you evaporate.
I can see you
dancing spirals on the outskirts
of my vision, but you shimmer
like heat on pavement,
mirage-sweet and desert-warm.
Tell me why you cannot follow me.
Tell me why you leave me when I walk away.
I am drunk because you
feed yourself to me.
I pray for more.

You are the concrete smell after a storm
and the earth when it is swollen.
You are the electricity of lightning
and the life inside of me.
I would not survive if you constructed
a wall of glass between our fingers.
I would lack the truth, the sway of you.
I would dissolve.


Bring you back and I will breathe
again. I can write the slope of your nose
and the curve of your ankle and
the free that your neck feels
when I press my fingers into it.
Stay. And I will give you a reason to
stay. I will be your life force and your electricity,
and the lightning and the storm of your life.
I will be the swollen earth and the drunk perfume
and the wholeness of you.
I will love you
until I cannot breathe.
I swear.

Ashore

I sometimes wonder
whether I chose this body
in some celestial place, a lifetime ago
did I say: this one.
the red hair
the green eyes
the tall
the lean
the pale
I sometimes wonder
whether I did not make some grave
mistake.

should I not have been half-fish?
I have heard jokes about mermaids --
"How do they fuck?"
and what sweet relief it would bring
to throw a spear
and whisper to a dying man,
"We don't."

what joy to feel no burn, no thrust, no blood
no unbidden fingers prodding, searching
nothing to guard
nothing to give away
only breasts the armored gray of shark's hide
and scaled, unbroken muscle
stretching down from waist to fin:
a weapon made to thrash, to hunt
to tear and defend
and the only sultry part of me a lying voice --
a lure to lustful sailors, pulling hungry ears to ghastly ends
bringing vengeance to the women they have left ashore
with hearts and stockings ripped

I sometimes wonder
standing on the cliffs and watching tides roll by
whether I were not better served by saltwater
whether this flesh is too soft
whether I am doomed
to be forever penetrable and warm
no spears to throw, no deadly tail
only curves of cream and blush
with cracks and fissures
into which the poison may seep

85.

he spent the night cleaning your blood
off the floor and he mentioned her the next day
you have not written about it until now
the letters that spell her name sit foul
and perfumed in your mind
somewhere in the vague Northeast
she smiles

and you have toothy voices in your ears
and they tell you she is waiting
and she is winning
and he says he loves you at every angle
and they ask  you why
and they say he is lying

so your feet bring you back
to the bathroom floor
you stain the rug again
red eyes, red lips
feathered streams like veins outside your skin
somewhere in the vague Southwest
you smile

84.

mechanical like oil slicking through my veins
copper with plastic insulation
and I cannot get comfortable
talcum powdered joints creak heavy
tell my arms to move
but they do not

and swarms of manic bees thrill in a glasswork skull
lightning imagery and gunshot pictures
punching holes into my metal brain
I cannot feel them
I cannot feel anything

a thumping heart beats faster
without consequence

pluck my strings and wait for music to come out
and you will wait until you die
you look at me with water in your eyes
mine are leaking something more like tar
and I can feel maggots in my lungs

for all the perfumes and exotic oils in which I bathe myself
for all the waxen lipstick and black rouge
for all the smiles painted on
there is nothing underneath
except the stink of rot
and old age