i never spent the night
off cliff street, on wave lane
waking up to fog on the beach
and the worst hangover in years;
i never spent my time
with some thin-lipped fuck
cigarette-rolling, whiskey-drinking
perfect joints in knotted hands.
bruises like lesions on my thin sore neck.
one of these nights i'll stop thinking of you,
when i'm incoherent, drunk and my hand makes me
sore with guilt.

spitting punctuation, red blood
smoke teeth coffee; fuck it.
cold morning wet night
bare feet gravel
dripping black paint
from under my nails.
the sink's overflowing with dishes
waiting for the doctor to call
tired of hearing
it's probably nothing
"it's probably nothing.”
consistency. biopsy. blood.
morning blood, brown blood
it's probably nothing
the doctor doesn't call
bare feet gravel
wet morning cold night
“oh dear.”
and a green vinyl couch
“we'd better get you in here right away.”

seven hundred fifty mL
hollow noise.
another night,
another morning of purple lips
and old blood
fully one percent or more.
stand me on a balance beam
z, y, x --- and sleep.
and as my hand
puts me to sleep, i think
of the wrong, wrong, wrong thing
and as my hand
lulls me to sleep, i can't think
of what you look like, baby.

you look like a hyena, yeah you do
throwing shadows on the wall like that
oblivious to the fact
I'm dry as a dollar between my legs
but you don't mind, you
don't even notice, do you
the whole time
[I never think of you]
finishing finally
with nothing left
and no reminder remains
of the last fifteen minutes
pull them up don't linger
leave my house lock the door don't linger
and I'll wash you off, methodically
writing without thinking
beats thinking without writing
and tonight I'm so tired, I can't
imagine the morning.

frog man, made of shadow, sitting on a rock.
led me down to the river, just a shape in the dark
no flies to catch at this time of night
just burning grains of sand in a black western sky.

wolf man, sitting on heels, down on his knees.
though ravenous as ever, he's gentlemanly
time and again, made me jump, padding up behind me
tonight, a gentleman is not what i need.

bull man, standing tall, born under a great red eye.
with horns two feet above his head, bull man spent his nights
watching seven sisters rise in a black western sky
pleiades looking down at him all through his life.

caterpillar man, curled up, asleep on the sand.
head on the pillow that he told me not to pack
i shut my eyes first but for so long lay awake
stayed hours there beside him, i was facing his back.

glass man, every now and then, keeps me up at night.
stitches and handles me through telephone lines
long fingers and knots and holy candle light
i'd like to see him and i wish he'd write.

what name do I give you?
You, jackal. you Jack-of-all. Jack, after all.

Jack, after all.
ripper with teeth,
did you pick up my shoulder tricks?
Jack, after all,
building your houses without the meticulous care
deserving (demanded)
by your age.place.station
your station? is a train station, bearing you
up and down the coast of this foreign land
which belongs to me - infiltrator.
Jack, after all,
having annexed my cities and my youth,
having annexed my youth - usurper.
you came (repeatedly)(too late)(too soon)
what name do I give Jack? master? teacher? brother?
jackal?
Jack, after all:
"don't fool yourself, girl."
Jack-of-all - lover -
"is that a dirty word if you're playing strip scrabble?"

i cheated at strip scrabble.

were you my mother, would you write me a letter?
     How you cast off every fetter.
     How your health is getting better.
     That he'll stay with you for ever.
fever burning on my lips is
scarlet, redder than your sheets.
it was college. You were nineteen.
i should be at least as good.
a drop of blood on my bedroom carpet,
in our old upstairs apartment.
Don't worry, Mother. i didn't want it.
again, fifteen, i said the word
but then went down far as i could
and kept our gazes locked.
i did just what he said to do,
just like mother taught me to,
Down as far as I could go?
yeah, I hit rock bottom. He was fine.
in a hundred years I will be fine.
how long did it take for you?
     Did my father ever do it?
     Did your new man jump right to it?
what would you say if i told you
what i really do at night;
atop the books and couch seat cushions,
clothes off or on - it doesn't matter. Truly.
"For reasons that are empty in the future."
I left reason lying by my dress on prom night.
My reason's in a dumpster off of Locust Street.
but these words are rooted in fever, Mom,
and I forget myself. The revelations end here.

your hands.
fingers knotted like wood, joints cracking,
you're an expert.
your hands... so familiar
know the pressure, know the paper feeling
the color they turn in winter
nails dull.
palm to cheek,
your hands say you love me
more than this.

[palm to throat]

his hands.
bigger, browner, knuckle scars
nervous near his mouth.
his hands... alarming
there's possibility in length
of fingers, soft skin but
unfamiliar.
palm to waist?
his hands stay quiet
too unsure, uncomfortable to speak.

[palm to temple]

my hands
are curled into fists
and jammed in my pockets
or folded in my sleeves
and talking to you

palm to palm, oh how i talk to you.