In the weak times
First, know this:
Your hormones are the devil
And they lie.
First times
We are all virgins in a sense
Inexperienced and curious
We welcome the world
Of unknowns
Just to feel the rush of not knowing what comes next
yesterday
i drove down mainstreet
and there was a wrinkled woman
sitting
on a bench
alone
she had a lit cigarette
in her hand
but
she wasn’t smoking it
she was staring
into some different time
some different place
and i wondered
what was her story?
before driving off
today
i wonder
if she’s still
alive
Before I make my breakfast
Each morning–well
The mornings I can manage to remember that self-care is a thing we’re supposed to care about.
I snip gently away the rosebush thorns of last nights’ dreams
Wrapped tight-not-tight around my ribcage
I lean close to the mirror. Close enough for myopic eyes to watch, for tired ears to listen,
Fates best foretold in fewer
decibels fewer
syllables.
“You are going exactly where you’re heading.”
What I want is to grow something in my leprous chest
that will last forever something that withstands
the elements a perennial breath in these walls lined
with charred coke I am a citadel of bone plastered
with silver-tinged flesh and petroleum blood in a few
years there will only be ruins of ash and powdered
marrow nothing left to bloom in the early-morning
hours unless I can shape the gravel in my stomach
into daylilies burning like a handful of flame
drove straight
to Athenian Grill after
therapy today
for the first time
I knew what I hungered for
and no,
it wasn’t because of the damn coupon
Court jester King,
Hysterical joy in radiant hall.
I’m all mismatched patterns, giddy in fabric palace,
Amongst stained glass.
I’ve built a place of my own here,
Where light pinballs through the rooms,
And those within arm’s length can comfortably persist;
Always in pursuit of new structure.
