(maybe you would be happier without a body) (and
not so strict with others) (having less hunger
for what they fail to impart)(a body is a winedark
tedious little house) (you are fearful of windows
uncovered at night)(you are full of holes)
(when the rain gets in you welcome it)
If I had three wishes I would wish for a beautiful singing voice. Instead I write about beasts (beasts who are really people) and talk to myself. I love a boy who says less every day. If there were too many words I could quell them. But how do you treat a lack? Having no tourniquet for what isn't.
We seem far away from that day on a bridge in the treetops. The wood swayed
and I swayed and he did not. He had a task to finish and that task was me.
I love a bottle that hurts me. Wine and a vial of my mother's perfume, who I have not spoken to since Christmas 2010 and whose whereabouts no one knows. For years I dreamt I disfigured the parts of me that resembled her. Now I dream of lost teeth and a fishing boat that fills with water but does not sink.
I don't mourn anything but reverence is a crying sport.
I fight the urge to be your secretary.
He was driving so he could only spare a glance.
Then what does it mean?
But I hesitated. How can a woman on earth be nothing like the earth?
When you fail to be precise you make a fear ubiquitous.
A decade has passed. Exactitude is a method I cannot shake.
People think I am a poet but really I am at war
with the very common ruining