nocturne: exit wounds

his wife upstairs with the boys
sends hate through the floor in her sleep
i am gathering all the things i have left behind
on previous visits; soggy shoes an old coat
a purse with a smelly glass pipe
if it be the last time let it be the best
the snow has just begun to melt
but in the car this wild look comes over him
he bends to kiss me and says let’s go
the words are a fire escape
oh he’s been burning for so long

we attend to supplies
hand on waist above feet on linoleum
under grocery store gleam-lights
all sparkles in the dusk somehow
twinkling along with my stomach
there’s someone i
should call hey uh just checking
i know decisively
if he hears he’ll change his mind
after all it’s not about me
it’s about time and distance
my body a symbol of both
crashing like a cymbal

she finds us of course
and lo there is much screaming
adamant and sorrowful and furious
o & i stand & deliver
did we kiss again? it’s lost
on waking

waning crescent

back when you held the concept
of unquestionably wrong
before love contorted itself
and your methods went sharp
before your taste of heaven
sent you downwards
the cold cold ground lumping up
saying i will meet you son
you always belonged to me

relentless against the nascent day
did you stand mudspattered
did you call your resistance a curse
returning weary and empty
which twist in the wire
was the one to send you spinning

what we choose to memorialize
controls us in its way
i remember you as the moon
lifting soft and bright
some small gift
in the curve and shine
of your shoulders bent
over that other light

five excuses

I. hollow voice to empty ears
because i shot words
like bullets to the black night
singing the meteor shower
cat-clawing until the notes shattered
and fell spent and sweating
at the feet of a mumbling crowd
who don’t seem to like purple
nearly as much as i do

II. smash cut: age eight
because she used to say
when you write your bestseller
instead of if
the expectation a seed
to a tree to a fruit too big
too ripe too rotten
to hope for anything
except that it might seed again

III. zero style points
because my attention span leads to inconsistency leads to the sort of shaky artistry that makes it difficult to convince myself that anything worthwhile can come out of the sort of stream of conscious bitterness that tends to plague me and i want to write something that accomplishes a goal further than making hostile eye contact with the reader while i take all of my clothes off and smear a thin coat of paint on my skin without telling a single goddamn joke to break the tension

IV. what if you’re wrong
because a calling supposedly has a flavor
that is easier tasted from the outside
so easy to condescend and call it
ego or arrogance or attention-seeking
and is it not arrogance to say
i know myself better than you do
is it not ego to say i was born for this
is it not attention-seeking to say
i have something good inside of me
if i am wrong i am undone

V. the rent is always due
because there’s an injured sparrow
shaking terrified in my hands
and if i set it aside it will die
and i have this knowledge
at every moment

by the river, by the street

i think you’d love me most
in small moments of perseverance
carrying the groceries home
slipping in the snow
i grasp desperately
for the heart shadowing mine
and hope that your firm grasp
will keep me standing

you are a counterweight
a balance a nightlight
a cup of strong coffee
a sleeping pill if needed
remember this

i think you’d love me most
if i never had to tell you anything
and existed whole inside you
built out of bricks and steel
you could lean and sag against me
in moments of fatigue

i have so much to tell you
i have so much to say
i have so much wonder
i am so tired

when i lie down
you dream with me

nocturne: voodoo doll

i didn’t know the quilt wasn’t finished
or i would have waited to use it
but i realized this too late
when i noticed all the pins
stuck in me
dozens piercing all the way through
my hands and feet
the bed full of sharp ends

i start with tweezers
but it’s a big job
so i ask dad for pliers
pulling them out in bunches
blood spurts and drips
from the empty spaces
i sit in the inflatable pool
rinsing my skin

somehow i am doing this wrong
there are more pins
every time i look down
i am exhausted and crying
someone please help me
i can’t do this alone
dad comes over with a utility knife
tells me to be quiet
and cuts a slit in the pool

blood and water on the carpet
everyone is busy watching the game
i pull and pull
but the pins from my hands
end up in my feet again
and vice versa
i can’t see through all this blood
it seems impossible to finish
but at a certain point
it stops hurting so much

nocturne: what you love will kill you

there is a curse on this town
blank eyes and slack wordless tongues
slide between nervous commonfolk
who don’t know the word “zombie”
the river gone still and brackish
the children stay inside

humanity responds to mystery
with superstition and ritual
today it is my turn
to run a mile between the pale ones
if you touch one, they say
you’ll become one
i don’t think that’s how it works
just a touch should be okay
but when in rome
you shut your fucking mouth

we celebrate at a baseball game
the home team is having a good year
over the pa system we hear an ad
for the next marvel movie
coming this summer
if there’s a theater near you

i’m in the nosebleeds
when a man behind me chokes
and throws up his hot dog
and tumbles down the stadium stairs
slow motion as everyone jumps away
crushing one another
in the confusion
the runner steals third base
and the spectators pile onto the field

on the way home i confess
he touched my hand as he fell
i say it should be fine
i say it can’t be real
wes parnell says
he doesn’t believe it either
and runs a finger down my neck

but at his touch something blooms
i know in that moment
it’s all true
i try to warn him
but my lips will not move

when i think of you i picture things forged from iron

in from the cold
your head full of spiders
spins straw into gold
your nerves feed each other
giving birth to the lie
that it’s all gonna break
just like always, old man
the long years only take

but we sat in our rooms
and we drank even more
both alone, sunlight wept
like a festering sore
i knew you, i loved you
we had years in those hours
holding desperate and close
in the dark with the rope

now it’s freedom and fire
and i’ve since killed desire
for the gifts you’ve been granted
and hold like a snake
how much you could lose
and i hear how you shake
how you sigh and say, old man
this all could be fake

but the thing we both know
is the casual scars
in the call of the dark
in your cell’s iron bars
in the twist of your hand
in your lonesome homeland
in the songs from your band
in your hurricane heart
go on, dear, i beg you
if you love us, make art

nocturne: i stayed dirty and thirsty

yard work is hard work
and sod won’t grow on sand
but i put the pieces where i’m told
it’s my job, after all

lili wants to ride a roller coaster
she asks me to choose one
that won’t flip her upside down
the pier has a few choices
i take her to the one
with the animatronic elephants
wearing business suits
her wallet is packed with money
i could have sworn was fake
only ten minutes ago

i leave her in line and walk
past the lemonade i can’t afford
something is moving me to tears
or maybe i’m just tired
but i nearly walk past the pop starlet
in the excellent white dress
without seeing her

she says honey you look sad
and we talk about dead artists
she feels the same loss;
we have been abandoned
and the penny she keeps idly flipping
seems magical
like it could change my life
but i wouldn’t dream
of asking for it

one of her fans is outside
with a knife
the security guards she calls
are dressed in tight white shirts
and black leather pants
in the chaos i think about leaving
but she says no, stay
we sit on the floor and talk
until she falls asleep

i wander
and coming back i find
the girl with the knife
cutting the pop starlet’s face
nothing serious
she just wants a little blood
to write a message
COME GET YOUR PRESENT
still i am horrified
paralyzed
can’t scream
i pull out my phone
try to take a picture
i can’t get the camera to focus

when the leather-clad guards show up
they ask me why i didn’t call 911
i tell them i wanted proof
that it wasn’t me
i say i panicked
i say i froze
behind them, the medic attends
to the starlet’s wounds
she is stunning in her bloody dress
and as she looks up
to meet my eyes
she finally levitates her penny

thereabouts

i’ve been trying
to shake off dust
twisted into carnal memory
the tangled lace of a boot
i’m trying not to wear out

mary karr says:
get naked on the page
you can’t pole dance
in plate armor

the entire internal struggle
is exposure vs nonexposure
how do i disrobe seductively
when it makes me feel
so hostile

look i’d rather be barefoot
than nude in these boots

home/office

the headaches have grown migraine branches
twigs of nauseaura probing deep into my brain
the dim christmas bulbs somehow achingly bright
i know the wisdom in shutting eyes in dark spaces
but i’d rather suffer pain than boredom

i’m trying to shrink the fallout of a religion
into a pill small enough for narrow throats
indulge me: the techniques are rebounding
into resounding failure and the toeholds i find
are slippery, resisting my attempts to grip

my allowance has been cut and dried
i drink from cups set aside in the rain
we give each other so many gifts
knowing the one thing we both need
is immaterial, priceless, unbuyable

o deliver me i could cry out to something
from the overblown agony of a head
so full of glass shards as to cut thought
down to ribbons in any color but blue
at least, at least i showed up to work today