the way we did it was,
the way we used to do it,
the way we had to do it:
this could be us but u
know I fxcked it up, like
the only way I know how
to be honest is in the poetry tags
between the cheese platter and
the illustrator format. the only way
I know how to be honest
is in the middle of poems
because people skim like milk
the beauty of a silkworm / it spins
its feelings. the history of the world
in a thread. the strongest natural material
in the world / is emotions. like atrophos
with her abhorred shears at the 5$ hairdresser /
call the salon samsara. today I choked my sink
bare with my hands / every time I comb my hair /
thoughts of you get in my eyes / the magus formerly
known as prince
I know you’ll pooh-pooh that. not you,
the other you. the one who’s tried
so hard to stop believing.
so, the way we used to do it. all fragment and pear / sweet blackeyed hackneyed sorghum rearing back past the parameters of good taste. mangosteen season. you know it’s offensive, but I’m so hung up on the taste of that honey. I put my face over that place in your chest and stuck a needle into the smooth plum heart there, a banana blossom larger than your fist. why’d I have to go and do that? why couldn’t I leave well enough alone?
relinquish. the red thread you tie ties you. why couldn’t I stop with the fishhooked mouth, terrorising the storm, refusing to smoke out the forest fires, tailgating, shoplifting, looking every horse in every mouth?
I’m the carmine beetle caught in my own throat. so I fucked up. I’m the dragon, I got hided and tanned, do you want anything else with that comeuppance? I invented bruising, manicures, and the sunday sermon. I’m sorry now. I’m utterly bereft and I’ll leave you to happiness / if you can withstand it. the heirloom pearls, the atlas moths. we can go to a late-night viewing if you want. it’s that time. a franchise I never got around to agreeing to watch.
stop thinking about it. today with my eyes like moonlit piss pools. recognise. I’m just a dumb ghost / hung up / on not being whole. making room. tuning the lights to an acceptable hue. pressing both thumbs down back when we still had cassette players on both fast-forward and rewind. of course you know what happens. of course you do. once I saw centipede larvae trying to maul each other fat, translucent-white, blind. utterly harmless but attempting to kill. this is not my problem but it still hurts / this is my problem so I swallow
again / so tell me what my problem is. / a hurting lane. how my fucked up feet prevent dancing. coming uncharted by wikipedia pages. taking pop lyrics as a personal affront. seeing through a veil darkly. my labyrinthine communication skills. an inability to / pick up / and put down objects at appropriate times.