the third roommate

me and my barnacle friend,
pitying herself in a high, soft tremor
"i'm tired of being ignored!"
how could i ignore you
when you linger,constantly,
curled tight in the corner of my eye?
a piece of dust that makes me squint,
rub, and redden, drifting in and out
of my vision, poking your head into my landscape.

your gaze is a trap, waiting resentfully
and eagerly for me to look your way.

crusted on the stern, the
prow of my consciousness

like the dull persistent drip
from a roof that has cracked itself.

we are not so full of malice as
you suppose, we merely are trying to
breathe as our bedrooms slowly flood.

paul revere: part 2

i'm wearing the remnants of
last night on my face,
sitting in this polished pew,
and no one gives a damn.

hallelujah!

the seed is planted
in my chest and refuses
to be uprooted...
therefore, i bring out my
pruning shears, to tame
my wild brambles
and their roses.

don't let these
briars choke my heart.
these blooms, they
grow like weeds and
stab like thorns.

...

the shears are sharp.

hallelujah!

well spent: a jar of quarters

i've been thinking about the woman who pretended she would take my fur jew-coat at gunpoint, and the woman who followed me around the grocery store screaming for us all to go home and the women who made certain we could never use the dryers at the laundromat and i'm trying to take my street-face off, but it's so firmly fixed.

venetian beads and blinds

i'm burying this winter by the
spadeful, slicing holes out of
the garden, laying slivers of
january gently in the bottom,
and heaping soil overtop,
healing the ground.

like moses' mother laying her baby
in a basket, tender, letting him
slip away for a time,
but suspecting his return,
altered yet familiar,
shod in a new voice
or sprouted like a wheat stalk.

winter, however, remains an
infant throughout the years,
infant-bear,shriek-berry,
gilded chimney-skater,
and always will be his own
monstrous merry self,
dwindling down into the ground
each year
as i bring out my spade.

shoot 'em up

the easier of the two
is "thou shalt not"

it's much simpler to avoid murder,
eliminate passion
rather than taming or training.

we're all milktoast believers,
empty of love in deed.

the overlook

yesterday the sun lay beside
me in my bed, crisp, sober,
and rich against the indian curtains.
outside my window,
i was only a speck,
but i still believed it was
mine for the taking.

i made plans to build a swing,
and listed out the cities i
would consider calling home.

paul revere

don't you dare call me a child
i've lived more lives than all of
yours added together.

i'll only go if you ask me,
and only if you know without
being told.
anyone who knows anything
without being told
has caught me in his trap.

so be gracious with me.

i spun a top that an old love made,
and you the carpenter, confident,
waited for it to fall and, disgruntled,
declared it impossible when it spun eternal.

the top looked like an acorn,
or the kentucky derby,
either one, so long as the horses
shine red in the sun.

i have nothing beautiful to say,
only half-spit confessions.

if you uncovered the heart of this,
the heart of me,
what would you say? what would
you want to say?

guarded eyes,
bristling like the bastille,
and i feel that you are both
examining and warning me.

warning.
how many lanterns do you
hold behind your back?

post-tattoo

the mayans say it will all
be over soon--
if it is, i refuse to be
caught daydreaming
at the end.

with my head in the
clouds as the only solid
earth dissolves out from
under my feet.

i refuse to die petty,
griping, or in sloth.

i won't allow my body to rust
while my heart dreams
of another world.

this is the earth
and i stand on it.
tether my feet to the ground
and fetter my heart to thee.

pins and needles

it's because we bought our
pictures pre-framed
that i can't
scrub you from my mind

friday the thirteenth
and a sewing machine
embroidering my new crest
on my shoulder:

i wave it like a banner,
warding you off and
crossing myself.

i will tune my heart
to anything but you

watching but never seeing--
we're all too far away
from someone

--it takes time to tame a fox.

you bought me from k-mart?

dad's mustache,
rolled up like a striped awning,
stored deep in his ear.

pale blue atlas club

thank you for the top,

a spinning children's toy with yes
on one side and no
on the other,
to make up my mind
for me.

thank you, but i've
always had a mind of my own.

i'm wearing the canvas shoes
another girl left in the back
of your car
while the redcoats invade somalia
and my mouth, mining

my teeth,
ripping white picket fence posts
out of their sockets
leaving rubyred pits

filling their coffers.
i stand resolute,
turning my other cheek.

december 1st

i want to sleep through all the lasts,
pull the covers up over my head
and skip the ending.

the endings.

the peeling away after months of layers.
i can't walk that way anymore,
they're grown to be more than ghosts,
congealed, and barricading my path.

i harp, i harp, but
every four months i open my
eyes to a foreign room with a foreign view
while my soul's landscape
remains german.

you're shaking my foundation
and i'm crumbling all over again.

"homesick because i no longer
know where home is."

kings, i never knew.
i match the scenery surrounding the rhein.
i blend into the black forest background,
like a figure who leapt out of a chagall
and clashes everywhere
until she is pasted back in.

a colour portrait wandering through
greyscale frames, or vice versa.

the say i look always to be at ease.
are you blind?
or am i so well disguised?
it must be the mustache.

niagara falls

barreling through the days,
throwing wisecracks like firecrackers
over my shoulder,
never watching where i'm walking,

lamp-posted.

barreling. in a barrel.
it's dark and warm,
here inside my shell.

merriment: lacquered?
SOAKING.

baklava me, layer and drench me
until i am merry through and through,
honeyed, rich, and shining.