gunpowder

You wasted, devastated man

you said to me I love you

and I reached for the razor

out of habit.

There's nothing soft 

or safe

in your voice

it's not love as in lovely

or hearts as in Valentine's day

or flowers as in first date bouquets

it's love

as in tennis

as in zero, as in nothing

it's hearts as in the cadaver cardiac

flowers as in deflowered and repotted with gunpowder 

irrigated with formaldehyde
and black-eyed tears
Before I met you, I used to wear skirts
now I fear the cloth
that lets me move too freely
that pretends both at freedom and at modesty
but never commits to either
like you
I used to wear my heart on my sleeve
and let my legs do all the hugging
until my mother banned me
from wearing skirts
or anything with sleeves.

you said to me

I love you

and my eyes closed in a moment of silence

for all the casualties

of the war
that you're about to bring down upon
my gunpowder garden.

Prayer

My mother accused me of being un-religious
and I was too embarrassed to tell her
that just last night I was on my knees
before you
drawing out God's name
with my mouth.

Sandpaper

You sandpaper woman
with your broken-glass hands:
Every time you touch me, I bleed.

Burning up

Sometimes, I forget to breathe.
I only remember when my lips start turning blue
and you ask me why I feel icy
in June.
Once, you told me you loved me
and I watched your face fall when I said nothing
in return.
What I wanted to say was I love you so much that there's a burning in my soul and there are "I love you's" dancing in my body in smoke-ring banners
but I had no air
not a single breath left
to voice it
and in that moment, I was afraid to breathe
because I learned in science class
that oxygen only makes the fire burn hotter
and I was already a furnace--
only one breath away
from burning up
completely. 

Happenstance

I am terrified of when I will happen.
Not of what will happen to me, not
of what I must endure
but of what I am going to inflict
and affect.
I am going to happen to someone.
I want to happen hard and fast
and be lasting
but what if
I am soft like water
and happen like mist
without the hardness of rain
without its stinging insistence
what if I happen
fleetingly
like dew
like vapor
what if I don't happen at all?
What I know is that I can survive.
We default to survival, to endurance.
I am terrified not of defaulting
but of not happening --
of being embryonic
and unrealized.
and I am terrified of happening also
because I know
the effects
of being happened upon.
Perhaps the most terrifying of all
is living
with the intolerable pain
of paradoxical wishing.

Namesake

The way I say your name is different
from the way I say anyone else's.
It sounds fuller, rounder...
as though my tongue and teeth are
trying to ball it up and push it
towards the back of my throat because
your name belongs inside me, not exposed
and in the air
where anyone can use it.

Post War

My body is a post-war wasteland
there are mines that explode when you run
your fingers over my skin
and there are graves of burning men and women
planted in half-moon craters across my arms
and on Sundays when I wash my hair
my knees are suddenly wet with red
John Frieda said the dye wouldn't fade for two weeks
but really, who could ever predict
sudden death
or stop gunshot bleeding
John Frieda didn't know shit
nor did any John ever who said
"It'll be okay"
You asked me why I don't talk to you anymore
I won't tell you
because telling means talking and talking
is not something that dead people do.
I always wondered why I could never
bear to hear you sing
and then I realized, yesterday
that no one ever appreciated
sing-song cruelty
Who ever wanted music
in a gas chamber?