Naked Poetry

Prognosis:

she’s a goddamn liar. And a proficient one at that. Look, son,

It’s all in the squint, LOOK! Don’t bother moving, she’s already inside you laughing like a time-bomb inside the joker–like potent young love using “yes” words to form acts of violation that can only be seen by lovers and by lovers who mean it I mean really mean it–guaranteed to die alive, expecting everything from the return and also maybe a little more room to perform the one act play they’d been screaming along all across time, to analyze every gaze on all the tiny little faces— and there it was and it was and it was everywhere and inside every trace their could be and every single body who spat cracked laughed got back up cracked laughed got back up and RAN———————————run!

you good for something awful filth,——— you scum-scabbed freak of romanticism,

so much class in your left hand right hand

She floats. Even at the restaurant where she works nights and some days everyone else is greased like pigs and piglets but there she is behind the counter--floating. She’s a cure (the perfect cure) and hour-after burns that could have been serious but never rose to the occasion. She’s got those, been there, done that, sort of freckles. The kind that are scattered about, just a few, perfectly strewn across the face. They don’t yell or scream, they are just little bits of sun settled in all the right places. They are just sun that happened to fall into the right places. Even they float. I wonder if anyone else sees her. Am I alone? I’m still in line at this point and I can’t stop thinking: “Who is going to believe me?”

I am a sad sad bluebird; she is fashion.

A visionary beauty-unit. She also writes words.

But they do not look like My words. Better that

way. Hey! Two Whole Halves.

 

 

I get it now.

 

 

 

 

I understand now.

 

 

 

            Perfect.

When people say, “So tell me about yourself?”

I didn’t lose it until she left. I keep photos of the people I’ve loved to see if there’s a pattern. I expect more out of morning than I do out of night. I’m a dying animal. I like my flesh spread and my neck choking, and I like my eyes on you. Fixed. Slaughter-watch. Bite your love in me. Throw me into your river, and I will swim with every part of me. I never really told the truth until that moment I watched you Ending. I knew then that I was not a ghost. I knew then I wanted to be branded. By your scent and your smile. Put your love somewhere in there, too. Deep so I have to search.

                                                                   This is as far as I’ll go.

I’m in class now. I stare down at the bones in my hands. I think forty pounds are now gone. I’ve been running lately. It is solitude. It is nervous. They are so bony. I sit and search, trying to find traces of my parents in them. So far I haven’t found anything. But I will keep searching. Perhaps that is why my mom wanted me to play the violin. So I'd use my hands, so I would think about them. I remember the first time I found out I had them. I was two years old. The second time it happened to me I was walking through a hall at college with my brother. He said to me - “it's the human touch.”

After that I could not stop looking at them! I called my mother crying! Later that night I imagined we spoke on the phone that night and you’d ask me how my heart was doing and I’d say,

“ She’s fine. A little blustery.”

Run to me, run me to the part where you become my lover and friend—-I will promise you with the precision of the needle in your eye that devoured betrayal bottom to top like the sky when it’s handled perfectly, a messy blue of perfect, like the eyes of an enraged goddess. Me? I would have given my sun, my brightest cry–in the wilderness in front of every tree and it would sound like dreams where you awaken to nothing but muted storms and you can’t see because light

isn’t happening and you try to remember being born but it doesn’t work that way,it doesn’t work that way

recall recollection, recall the blinks of your eyes, now train them to blink 5,000 times faster–it will be impossible if you don’t try. Easy as it is to open your fists and surrender to

time did you not think for a moment that I would not miss your eyes your complexity the sensitivity of your soul and what this feels like! our love! Life Love! the music we faded into between vi

The baby’s hands are wrapped around

My finger. Does she know how safe I am—

now?

Now that she’s here, now that I know her

I’ll say:

Dearest daughter,

I am complete with surrender

I’ve never

held treasure but

I’ll never need to now.

And if you promise to shoot me I’ll

Leave this denial—manic, depressed

Draw two lines on opposite sides

Of the country and

You’ll find me in the middle between manic and depression

This is silly this is silly this is silly this is silly

They are just atrocities mixed up with

Better atrocities. Only a fool would

Dutifully serve those chemicals.

Don’t you dare speak my Name.

Show your faces.

Harbor, convalesce, my closest contemporaries. Have some enticing, explicit

Divinity.

It is

Gut wrenchingly radiant

To think,

I would be gone now

But it takes so much breath to conclude

So I just live on live through and weep right.

Get branded from time to time

It’s a sign

of

The divin

Listen here, mad girl.

Don’t you live where the walls

Watch you never eyes shut

All is open doorways into your

Marrow afraid of the cancer in

Your socks sometimes you are

Silly sometimes you are not

Sometimes you are the villain

Other times you’re the dot

In the middle of the target

That’s on the back of my neck

Asking how can I get all the

Way around to her

Sometimes, I feel the pain in three places.

Christian! Hand me another cross.

I wanna learn from my stigmata

a brush with blood

I like anything in series

Sometimes,

you’re dying.

Other times you’re screaming

Always at something you can’t even see.

Love wrapped me up in a faceless sculpture of fraud. Fraudulent faces asked me what I wanted if it and I said just a bump.the next day I woke up in an ancient burial ground home of some Egyptians couldn’t help but think I used to rule these people I used to be a queen. But that was in another sphere... one more year, and I’ll be opened up for love, both hands hanging freely forevermore that is what she said to me that is what she said to me that is what she said to me on the night we did not sleep in the night but in our own love scheduled by our angel s yes we were the ones. We were the ones that raised them this is how they got so high—we are the givers of all balls, embraces of all love, our shadows are made of strength and love dust. Evidently—your love is a syndrome and I want to catch it let me die. Let me die of love. It’s what I want, a white whisper to match in voice and stature it’s a challenge now, elegance is key keep your knees off th