unto no one

noises in the night. a house

settling around the covered

shadow interior. these days

the lights are hardly on. no

one sees in, the glass is

covered with missing

faces and oil dark as

blood. sweet as molasses.

and my grand staircase

is littered with bodies like

the end of a party. holding

the weight until the roof

caves in on us all.

and those clouds of fire start

showing, leave me behind.

if that burning metal tears

through me to settle,

leave me behind.

if that little girl with

the flower in her hair,

shouts for her mother

if she dare, leave me behind.

if men in straight suits

turn to men in hard boots,

and clap their hands while

the other shoots, leave me

behind. if the bells ring

and the corpses in the

streets sing, leave me

behind. and if this

sacred land darkens

under one man,

leave me behind.

more. parasites shimmer on my silky

body like dew. soon, the winter will

fade me, and you’ll be gone away

til’ spring.

profuse darkness of a weekday evening.

they snake in under the doorframe,

phantom like in the glow of the television

screen. around and around, they wrap

themselves in your hair and sink

easily into your scalp. this is how

you die; one oil slick lie after

another. one more stranger in

your head, screaming: fool!

there’s a hole being dug, foot by

foot and just for me. in goes

my feet, then my ankles and

calfs. there are worms of

many colors, ravenous and

waiting.

out here under the september

sun, i fall to flesh and blood.

deteriorating under spiked

shadows cast by tree limbs.

my stomach is the last to

go; in it they find your

hollow-hearted eyes.

what’s left of you when i

return to the hills.

the shapes of open mouths

in front of me. Two hands

tightly clenching, four now;

squeezing and pressing

thumbs into flesh like

wet sand. Watching it all

drain out, teeth shining

with blood and viscera.

This is it, I say. This

is it. We all are witness

to the beast.

when it all feels like

it never even happened?

but it gathers

in your gut and makes

itself known anyway.

and you carry it

through time, never

losing a piece of it.

so your body gives

it room despite the

pain. when even the

pain itself is selfish

in that way. and

you carry it still.

still.

i feel it i feel it i feel it

i feel it

i feel it i feel it i feel it

feel it feel it feel it

again and again and again and again

for all my life.

that i can be alone with you.

here, the troubles don’t

exist. the buses are empty,

and i can feel the weight of

you pressing into my side.

i wanted to be enchanted

right there with you,

among the vacant seats.

always

forgetting to pull the cord for

our stop.

were gods in the trees. it only made me

wonder what was in the soil. who

was i then; standing under the

shadows of gods outstretched

limbs? as it turns out, there

weren't any gods in the

trees. only bodies under the

roots, with bones to catch

the rain.

          Love was torn into me 

          It was marked on the windowsill

         in dust and newport ashes

          You’re all I got

           through the telephone signals

           and out the other way

         I was loved by you so

           thoroughly 

            It was all around me 

              in every mid-winter night

            spent in laundromat’s and

             cars; it was always you 

                   and i thank god, an idea

                 i hardly believe in, that i

                  was given you 

                    Mom.

i need something to put over

when i was touched and then

discarded. all your fault, by the way.

a bandage to cover when

i said it out loud and the most

that was done was uprooting me

and not him. gauze for the moment

i was held and my body was grabbed

like clay. would you happen to

have a plaster for when we

played in empty apartments

with toilets full of shit and broken

windows? oh, and thank you.

          the land splitting open   like a wound

          columns of smoke  that    wrap around   

                     this mortal form like silk. 

              oh, to be the blackest bird 

        obscured by   the hand of god. 

                  is it not enough      to see them beg. 

             child of my child,   woman of  my womb. 

                    men    like walls. wailing into the

                   endless   turning.       oh god,    life giver

                          spirit     or priest. 

                         let this be.   

a clenched fist. holding me tight,

groping these underdeveloped

parts of me. there are things

that happen deep in the black

and dirty snow, against chain-

link fences and behind empty

buildings. wrapped in a heavy

coat, or touched in secret.

if i had known i was being

molded i might’ve folded

in on myself like clay.

my bed is a capsule,

wishing i could pop

and i don’t even remember your name.

you electrified a part of me

that didn’t need it. you

took from me. you —

the puppet with a master

who put his sickness into

you. what could i have been?

what woman could have

existed if you had not

that the wings i needed

so badly would grow under

my skin. and then even

the weight i buried myself

under wouldn’t be enough