Plates Before BreakingPlates Before BreakingI keep hearing the words you saidjust before you left the roomThey hang like plates before breakingI cry because I cannot catch themI shut my eyes, but I cannot sleepthere are images instead:Bent near the water\'s edgeslanted Z of unkempt flesh, arm out-stretchedwashing the doubt stained palm of my handWater ripples around megentle as articulation across the surface of your voiceYour soft face and the sweet skin of snakesMy hand closes beneath the streambut there is nothing to hold ontoThe water passesunhindered by my handI wake to the weakness of dawn knowingthere is only the endless stretch of day before meand my heels flat against the bedafraid of falling back to sleep
The Great Letter CThe Manifestation of the Great Letter CThe thunderheads grew near the horizonswelling up like frightened catsWe could hear them hummingwhen we listened to the windheads cocked just solike seashells singingthe voice of the seaClouds lack the rhythm of wavesthey only know expansion and contractionnot repetitiononly the contentment of expulsion:excitement, erection, ejaculationWe watched them from the ridgeunable to take our eyes from the great black bugsinching along invisible highwaysuntil they had crowded out the sky entirelyWe moved quietly for shelterhoping not to disturb the collecting cloudswhen someone coughedand we were caught in a swirl of crowns and kingsof claws and crows and thenthe manifestation of the Great Letter Cin the sky sent us spinningdescending upon uslike an incomplete cometcrushing the spineof the old she goatchewing her cud contentedlynear the barn.We reached shelter soakedby the rage of an expiring skyour second skins saggingWe l
SapphoSapphoIf you stand theresilent any longersaying nothing, your wordsmay seep from under your skinand trail down your legslike blood from a newly cracked eggand you will appearjust old enough to thinkyourself a womanI rememberwhen you were thinas a twig, barely buddingnipples like pebbleswhen cold morningran her hands betweenthe sheetsNow here you areangry before mefingertips and twisted tonguelyrist, mother and loverdressed in the long purpleof priestessesand queensI know why you are here andI have no regretsor apologiesAndromedais old enough to pick flowersor loversas she choosesI remember a time whenyou, Sapphowould leave my bedwhining all the whilethen stumble homeweak kneesto write my name a hundred waysskirts a mess about your ankles
Armadillo Eagle and WhaleThe Armadillo, The Eagle, and The WhaleWhat would you do if you came to the edge of the world?What?What would you do. If you came to the edge of the world.Spit over the edge. [laughs] Why? What would you do?I dunno. It\'s like, how profound would that be. To find the actual edge of the world. To encounter a border. Not merely some line drawn across maps guarded jealously from people who speak another language, but literally the end. The place where everything ends. Not just the end of a cliff, but like, the edge of the universe. What if you came to the edge of the universe?I\'d spit over the edge.And your spit would cease to exist.So? It might hit something before it did.I dunno, it just seems so impossible that there might be an end to something. Might be and edge to all of this, as though all of our hustle and bustle would come up against this impossible nothingness, where there wasn\'t anything but darkness and silence. To reach into it would be impossible...
The Tallest Man in the WorldThe Tallest Man in the WorldI had a dreamthat I was the tallest manin the worldIt wasn\'t that I was so tallso much as it wasthat everyone else wasshortbut then perhapsthat\'s how every tall guy feelssurrounded by the diminutiveand LiliputianI would stride through crowdsas though through knee high grassesparting as I strode down the sidewalkin slow motionbalance a new concernand gravity having slowed thingsto a crawlI saw a tall shadow in the distancewith long hair and long legswillowy in silhouetteand I made toward that skinny shadowin the sunButtry as I mightI could not catch herbecoming lost among the buildingsthat were even tallerthan I wasI cried and I cried and I criedand as I cried I shrankeach tear taking an inch from meuntil I was among the tiny figuresthat had parted like schooling fishbefore my giant stridesI looked aroundand there was my friend Jeffsitting on the cornerbehind his drum kitkeeping the beat of the streetwith hammers in
Poor Aim Bad TimingPoor Aim, Bad TimingFuck youand your babblingbullshitI will kiss who I wishin spite(or because)of my problemsIt is one mouth for drinkingand two eyes for seeingand three seconds decideour four lips are kissingBecause you are rightwhen you saythat your veins were full of vodkaand your eyes werealivefor the first time since I\'d met youwith something other than regreteven if that wasangerI am only shouting nowbecause you started cryingbecause I wanted to hear my voiceabove the nonsenseand indulgence of a girlabandonedwhose breasts became medalsin her mindwhose cunt was cut and bleedsself pity, who believesit was only poor aimnot just bad timing
A Clutter of Wires Cut CleanlyA Clutter of Wires Cut CleanlyWaking.Morning.Naked, clean.Sun light puddledon the cool wooden floor.Scent of skin, sheets, coldand distanceOnly emptiness outsidethe color of skythe color of clouds.Air empty exceptthe rustling drapesand the radiotalking blindlyin a barren room.Her bare feetagainst thecool wooden floorcount out the daysin odd numbered stepstoward the door,echo the empty daysbetween where she wasand where she\'s going,measure distancebetween two lives.An incomplete weekof freedom betweenthe hospitaland the office.Life becomesunclutteredby lines of routineand the heavy questionswell up with unlooked forintensity.Having no wires to hold themto the earthall the big questionshang in the skyuneasily.There is nothing leftbut a bedand some booksthat she is nottaking with hera towelsome cereal andhalf a carton of milkin the fridge that washere when she came.