The Swirl

Let's be in love in my living room
Dancing to a better tune
Telling secrets with our mouths quietly,
Out loud
Til we're black and blue
From making love all afternoon

Let's build a universe in your backyard
Playground
Downtown
Sloppy drunk, on our way to right now
Lightweight, carefree
Weight of the world gone suddenly

Drag me to my deepest fears
Keep me there
Carefully, make me
Stare at them
squarely
Swallow tears
Of sorrow spilt from pain relieved
Hold me there in disbelief

Then take me to your living room
Drunk as hell
Late afternoon
Laugh it off,  birth my buzz
Pick me flowers
From your gardens rug
And shower me with all your love
Until I'm black and blue
From making love all afternoon

stone faced, sand blasted,
cemented
and half-assed,
sleeping soundly
like Pompeii
dreamless,
uninspired,
uncorrupted,
unavailable for comment.


You see, there are bones
inside of me.
Bones embracing each other,
in tired poses
laying in the dirt,
uncovered by the studious,
                                   curious,
                                   fastidious, and
                                  woefully unlucky.

Good luck cataloging your finds.
I wouldn't buy it.

meanwhile,
i am petrified
in perfect fashion
filling my space
filing my cells
and ever.  so.   ****.    slowly.
i am whole again,
rock hard abs
and chiseled jaw
Adonis
in slate stone
with chipping lungs
stand **** for the world
in demonstration of man
"This is what I was,"
     i will say,
"Proud never to change."
pigeon **** on my shoulder
and no one knows what color my eyes were

There is a never ending breed of bracteria livig in my bones
It
almost chews with the full intent of biting off but not quite, holds back just enough to leave me hanging
my joints, nooses of collateral damage,
they
almost wiggle like worms but burn with less intensity than pain.

There is a never ending wall of inter knotted muscle within my back

I call these things frustration
although alot of the time they feel like fury
make my neck ache like guilts burden.

I have ground my teeth to tiny sizable pellets and
picked at my charred white skin,
until there is no more youth in this body
all you will see is five foot seven of sallow eyes
pale faced
bloated frustration
corpse-like
if corpses smiled.

Untill my teeth are yellowed from coffee and cigarettes and the laugh lines around my mouth taunt me like the scars on my upper arm (if you are scarred just as painfully by laughter as a knife what is the point of it all)
12 inches of stitched back frustration that reads:

you cannot undo
what was done


   stitches I want i want to rip out in the company of polite
normal people and
smile at their disgusted faces

have you ever as a child
been so unhappy by what you put down on paper
you would scrunch the whole thing up after crossing it out in the thickest black marker
throw it in the bin and start over?

This is what living feels like
I am just a  canvas

I can almost remember what it was like to laugh

if I could, I would draw the back of every
time she turned away from me - her hair and how it met the base of the skull and repelled
downward or climbed back up, she'd cut it short and then
watch it grow,            

if I could, I would re-trace her ears and marvel at how the skin joined in perfect harmony behind them. if I could, I would have had her a million times more in between my fingers, running them through her - everyevery I have
and had and
will have.