IX
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I WITNESSED THE SHAME OF GOD AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS T-SHIRT
in the mood to fuck around and fade into obscurity, descendant glissando underneath the clothesline, mouth as slack-jawed and guileless as the day i was born. i am too exhausted to be proud anymore,
too low to not blame myself for my reputation, too old to be playing spades and slapjack with the rest of the stragglers vacationing in asphodel meadows
where the dead bury their dead and whine about how they deserve a chateau in the clouds. alright, i’ll wear sackcloth and ashes
i’ll atone i’ll saint veronica i’ll spit up all the acid and mop it off the laminate. i can't help it if my wants are the same color as my needs,
bleary cool magenta, like stained-glass orchids that catch the sun. dreamt my death mask was on fire again
my personal history is pornography my tongue is curled in the shape of subterfuge my vanity is plastic masochism filling up the hole where dignity should be.
got a rap sheet for french kissing the exhaust pipe my decorum begins at starting the house fire and ends at keeping my elbows off the table, girl as a car crash. girl as a lot of things: bedlam in a tube top and $5 lip gloss explosions on the TV screen dishonor handcuffed to the bed one day i will master artlessness. until then, i will antisepticize the void
and walk quietly down city streets. minimize the body, minimize presence, kneel at the mirror and watch the room graciously give light to the hall. delicate thawing out of my heart
until the undertaker wakes up and tells me to put my shoes on, saying: girl i touch you just to see you recoil |