unspeakable poems, ii.

i might have woken up
detached myself from you
like a shadow leaving an object
detached myself from feeling
and remembering what feeling
felt like

the rationale lacking

some secret voice inside me
reminding me

intense, stormy interpersonal relationships

my hips are not meant children
children crawling out of them
children tied to them
children clinging to them
staring up with wide eyes
staring up with nightmares in their eyes
the reflection of their mother in their eyes

i knew this wouldn’t work. you can’t get away
with having your point-five kids because someone
will eventually coming looking for the other half
and they’ll call DYFS when they find the mess

and what of you?
with a kiss, i could send you over the cusp
a whisper of breath to send you over the edge

there would be no coming back, you say.

we can never go back.

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pills

i.
these pills are virgin blue and cleanse my mind
of thought until i am a blank canvas but not meant
for paint or ink. hang me in a museum somewhere
under glass, titled: effacement.

ii.
i think (when i can think) that i might one day
go again to the lighted room with the buddha statues
and the plants, the brocade the on decorative hutch,
that heaven must be a psychotherapist’s office.

iii.
he reassures me that he never fucks his wife
and i swallow this as some sour pill, or else
let it dissolve like aspirin under the tongue.
but the throbbing in my temples doesn’t go away.

iv.
some days my head is a refrigerator. the grapes
wrinkled and the avocados turning pasty. some days
i remember that i can’t remember, and then every-
thing is okay, just before it softens and blurs out.

the SS Forgo

we are touched with fire

you have cut the clock into seconds when you think you are okay
when you have torn the captain’s badge from your shirt
and now no one can hold you accountable
no one will know

we sing songs of madness and desire

in a cage hanging off the side of a hospital,
a girl will sit and write in her notebook [having been allowed a pen]
and will write HELP over and over again
until she runs out of paper and must write between the scars

we purge ourselves of fear

how many times must you cut yourself
until all the bad is gone
until all the guilt is gone
until you yourself are gone

the ship is sinking. but you are convinced no one will know.
you throw out the logs, smash the compass, wipe your finger
prints from the wheel, from the walls, from this position
you never wanted–you only wanted to see the sea, you only
wanted to be enveloped by white-tipped waves that tasted
so familiar to you, that tasted of your own tears. you thought
you had left that girl in the hospital behind. but now she
watches you with eyes from the curl of the last wave as the mast
breaks and the people scream and you begin to wash the deck
with a bucket of your own blood.

gliss: a fragment

expand, moving up like a gliss on my heart–

my heart that beats too fast, arrythmic coagulation of uneven memory,
concentric pulses that light up your screen with a green dot–i am here
no, i was never there. i am present between the shaking fingers of a hand
held up beneath light that might sooner sear than warm. first they thought
they could cure me, that pain could be poulticed with a pill to the head,
but pull the trigger and you begin to see where it all unravels. i begin
to think exorcism is the only option–

contract, moving down like an anvil on my heart.