(Allegro Hotel, Chicago. 16th Floor. July 2006)
I AM CERTAIN
of the things i'll miss,
resisting is bliss
(but it's simpler to submit)
written argument spent
heavier on lines - finding
solace in pages, pleasure in some
never-ending supply
My own hope
is a floating one, but I
am no ocean - I knot up
my mind and insides, lines in
empty written in the tides,
but I can't resign.
All hype and ripening,
ration and disaster
moving forward
faster
The celibate meeting of mirrors-
soaked wholly in milky fears
in the remnants of inability
inebriation and humility
willingness to leak like sieves
believingly, believingly.
shoreline rescues, RESOUNDS!
The wholesome grounding of sounds,
louder! louder! there then + NOW however
resigned to thicker concrete.
It is She, returned
to pluck from the replaced bouquet.
The smells are something I cannot remember,
but the pattern on the shotglasses made it clear:
what are you doing here, happy in a cup?
Strung up at the wrists,
steaming, pressing,
ready to give up.
***
There have been ten thousand rooms,
Tiny homes and hopes for pearly doom,
Chair legs fashioned with high hopes for impending doom!
Human antics prancing in the hopeful room.
I have stitched my own clothes,
snitched and stitched my sisters to yours,
Bolted our mothers on bathroom floors,
Bound found neighbors in door frames, time and time
before-- glorious--
But how those nights boxed my rib cage in!
Pressured my heart and lungs,
Tensed within my fingers, snapped my wings from my back....
The pattern in the shotglass,
pattern in the bank.
pattern in the handkerchief I yanked
from her hands. Demanding!! From where
do you perceive the feast?
"At least give me a year to fade,"
said the thief.
& in that year I faded myself.
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