A Compression
Few minutes have felt like this,
with knife edges singing
lullabies
and trumpets of slamming doors,
a solid fanfare.
Not many moments have seen words
coated in necklaces that
glittered
like teeth in the dark.
I have no desire to relive them,
so I will throw this
bouquet
of twisted seconds your way
with a note dripping in permanent
marker.
Asking you to tip this day over
like a pan of used oil.
The Last Disappointment
It's over
you muttered in a voice
of sewn blades.
Ice, solid as aluminum panels,
lined your eyes,
shutters against
the rage of
a storm that would not come.
I'm not going to battle,
not with you.
To fight would
mean a boil of blood,
unappeased,
a burn that tears,
a shriek of
anger that rips
like an ice pick.
I feel none of that.
My eyes are smooth,
my blood the reddest dead water.
Calm, trickling
through a broken faucet.
Mouths
I used to know how to open the door.
Now, the knowledge
is pocked, red as pimples,
red as stop signs.
I bend over double
in an effort to fish it out
with claws of packed fears.
I try.
My hand grapples with hooks
and pieces of
tin-foil that
have found a cemetery in my body.
The memory of how to
speak with you
lies buried,
down under stomach lining.
To get to it,
I must zip myself open,
spill veins
like shoelaces to the floor.
I'm not willing.
Not for an open door.
Shucking
I'm attempting to turn
myself inside out.
It's not going well.
The kitchen light doesn't want to burn
on my gleaming
entrails,
on my blood,
spilled like nail polish on the counter.
The knives, the scissors
are talking back,
babbles of
blades
that only sound like shrieks.
I fling them aside,
look for another tool
to peel
myself open
with a crunch of skin.
Slip myself off
like a dress
one size too small.
Reflections in a Pool
He might turn his head
on its axle to look at you.
He could.
He might look, a stare
the color of ice water,
his
smile a winter's horizon.
You see him and feel the
tide of salted emotions rise.
He sees you
sees all the intricate lacework
of nerves.
He flings out a hand to stop the view,
his skin cells
expanding with the
heavy mirage of a
calm living room.