about sleep

something awful about slumber. something wonderful.

how I wake with sludge inbetween my eyelashes. stuck there. as if I never showered. as if my eyes are pie crusts, waiting to be eaten. or worse. tossed in the trash cuz no one wants that part. prefers the filling. as long as it’s not apple. I hate apple pie eyes.

how I dream terrible thoughts about his wife. about how he touches me with the authority of those muddy fingertips. and then he does. wakes me with it. turns me over and lifts me up. enters my dreams and leaves.

vulnerable in sleep. passive. receptive.

the compulsion

the compulsion to pen poems. as in: illness. obsession.

wait.

for the path.train. three thirty a.m. loathsome like drunkards; count high heels and wonder. what happened. to herman. how he be.came. this way. how old his wife is. if she really curls her bangs like that. and what. kind of conclusions we jump at. when women wear wound hair.

or their husbands. who dis.play. mis.tresses.

where we each fail to perform. necessary duties or responsible personhood. how a fable of accountability could have earned a portrait instead. of this jumble. of words.

we smash together. careful enough to be named: poem.

and wonder. about freud. what he might have said. about any of it.

Presentation is Everything

for Herman

He sits quiet. casual on my bed. I crawl about. nude. photograph the deception. we created while fucking. His shirt. plaid. buttons-down. The book. Baudelaire’s. Paris Spleen. a master. of form. without. extra. periods. Perhaps because men don’t menstruate. One leopard-print shoe. gifted from a woman I drove to a disgusting motel. after her man beat her. which unfolded into another untruth. I watched her suck. his lips. hours after. I saved her. Both high. on. tina. I never saw her. again. The orange tag. a condom wrapper. Claims to be special. “for her.” but leaves us with impression of plastic-coated cherries. on a sundae. special for her. or not. His cock. uncircumcised. Perhaps. the most virtuous part of his body. I’d rather ride. bareback. but he cheats. The wine. a blend. from the west. my favorite red. We looked when we heard. the glass crash. The light. a desk lamp. because the camera is actually a computer. sans flash. Positioned at the bottom. of the pile. his coat. He made an effort to hang it. but it fell. when our fucking tangled the web.

The only omission. is love. What we have. is destruction. the floor. his foot.