ignore the pointed hat baby,
i’m ten gallons of poison and
bile,
vile –
when storms sweep in
from the badlands
on black chargers
and appaloosa steeds
they blow me
like tumbleweed
through dustbowl towns
with hivemind townfolk
and priest’s pretty daughters,
what is love but
vile,
wild?
this one has eyes
like a renegade fire,
kisses an effigy of me
before she goes to dream,
i swear i’ll leave
when the hurricane next calls,
but she is all ribbon and
strawberry freckles,
lying in fields of sweet-grass
and hiding my gifts of wolf’s bane
and eye of newt in satin bags
where her rosaries ought to be –
She is a paradox, puss
and me.
Every woman is a cat
exhausted by love
until she is alone
in an empty room
where even echoes dare not whisper.
She wants someone to see her
with less-than-human eyes.
She wants to be consoled
in her frailty
and revered in her ferocity.
She wants a warm place to sleep
without the heaviness of strings.
She wants to eat without shame.
I compose a reply in my head. I type a different reply. I attend meetings and nod politely. I wear clothes that don’t feel like mine and pretend I understand. I ask to be copied into an email. We are shrouded in orange light. It is warm but you are not. There is a face in the darkness and it is illuminated in white. There is a broadness to the space between us and it is filled with a heavy silence that belongs to me. I can hear my breath and it grates on my skin until it is red and raw. I go to yoga and feel myself lengthen. The space between my toes stretches. They play the sound of the ocean moving the way it should and I wonder where it is from. I lay in corpse pose and stare at the roof, wondering what the difference is. My small body casts a long shadow in the light from the kitchen. I think about the hallway and the sound of your tears, and I am still trying to mourn the loss of a love that wasn’t mine. I can feel your breath against the back of my neck and the warmth of your
toiling moths
in cradles between
my teeth.
wax melting
down my spine,
i give myself up.
(q)w/u)aking,
a ripple through my chest,
i'm alive.
tick my orbit,
a love emblazoned
on my thigh freckle,
can you hear the
labyrinth within
my mind?
lab rat
with a trickle
of honey
tipped on my tail,
i think i'm railed
to this momentous.
waving along
sadness like
a draft
unwritten,
how inexplicable.
a maru
link slithered
around my neck,
cylindrical fuse
humming with
salacity.
I hear the crows in the distance
They sound so lonely and ominous
Flying in circles, looking down
And I wish I had wings myself
So I could fly alongside them
And leave this life behind
We’re standing
in 100-degree heat;
a denim skirt hugs her thighs
and a spaghetti strap droops
from her shoulder.
She leans against the tail gate
of the pickup
and looks at her cell.
"Got a signal?" I ask.
She shakes her head.
She walks around,
her too-large
cowboy boots clunking
on the asphalt
and holds up her phone,
cursing God, me, AT&T
and the whole state
of West Virginia.
But not herself, oh no.
Never mind those rum and Cokes,
those four hours of sleep,
her lead foot
and short attention span—
that tree hit her.
I don't say a word.
Arms crossed,
squinting against the glare
of the sun, I think
of the ways I