Instead of
punching
my fist into
the wall, today
my friend upstairs
& I wrote it
down: “‘Don’t
swear,” like
that will do
anything
significant.
That’s a lie
you’re eye
sockets
have to be
empty not
to see
you have no friends
you’re a selfish
know-it-all &
the worst best
pretender I
know, that is,
womp womp, (draw it out.)
I’m a seesaw
With one
participant.
Nevermind,
that was my
imagination;
phantasmagoria
designed to distract
from the truly
important
persons in
my life &
financial
security.
I know everyone means well.
But damn.
Can’t you
just stop.
Woe is me:
I live in
America.
I’m as invalid
as it gets,
guess that’s
the point;
or not,
either way
I don’t have
time for this
lampoonery.
My heart’s
about to
blow up.
Another fib.
Maybe I
aught to stop
smoking the
truth like Monk
Sure hope not.
This poem –
I guess it
is a poem –
is getting
too long.
Guess I’ll wait another
day. I want
to see which
way works better.
My throat
locked in
a dead tree,
“Just get it
over with
already.”
“Drop
the guillotine!’”
I’m sweating under
heavy sheets
next to you,
wheezing.
You’re warm;
steaming skin
against mine:
cold. Lifeless
branches scratch
shabby shingles
beyond dark
dusty windows
birch boughs rattle
mid-morning gusts
whip & whistle.
We pretend to be
asleep and sink
within another’s limbs
coiling neck
& gripping
waist, nestling
into collar bone
cranny, rubbing
my nose on soft
skin, breathing
You. Something
in me dissipates,
leaves me lighter,
twitching,
floating,
clasped & condemned
to dream.
