Tuesday, December 09, 2008

of course, everything i planned to say is lost. i do it on purpose these days. driving home i gripped the wheel to steer the words, all this sort of thought i have avoided.
the real time felt so short but leaves me pondering, questioning, yearning.... for days, weeks, all this wonder.
when i saw you off, the sting of finality sung from the deep engine of the double decker. at one time i was embarrassed to kiss you over and over in that line, but oh how i’ve changed. would that we had stuck together, our lips an irreversible tangle. what a way to go, my face twisting into misery as i turn away, couldn’t i have waited till you couldn’t see? but you call me back, now you’re just a face, framed by door and windshield. and even then, “love you,” i believe it. i go from crushed to grinning, i should have blown a kiss. it’s easy in retrospect, my love is lousy. usually i take off right away, leave you in the belly of the beast and be gone. but the well inside me sinks, since when are we so serious? i sit and stare until i can’t take it and ease myself out of the parking lot, slowly pushing against our steady solid distance. even now you have your claws in me and you don’t even know. even now i’m on pins and needles, prickling, a pincushion. (i still feel stuck, that the sharps stayed in. i guess it’s the lack of food and slight delirium and all this wanting)
at this sort of moment i don’t even know if i know you. body takes over and sleeps sets in.

Monday, December 08, 2008

you offer your version of apology
my anger dissolves into sadness at
our unstoppable divorce. i can’t stop
falling deeper down, you’ve got me.
where do you want me? like this?
and now? my fear, always
underneath, pulses under your cold
hands, my heat bleeding fuel
for regeneration, over and over
the answer and question. then again,
i’m never ready, i was always
left undone, half-baked and
out of breath. later you’ll
admit it, we go so fast, quick:
question -- is it my fault?
of course, he can’t stand it, how
bad i want it. you’ve got me,
unspun and squirming,
not sure of how to love. am i
doing it right? my feelings in a fight