I Left My Door Unlocked

I Left My Door Unlocked

And you barged in my room

During the blue hours of the

Morning, took my car keys –

Looked at my pillowhidden body –

And set your Ipad on

My desk, then licked your lips and

Kissed my mouth cold

I kept my mouth shut

Because my breath smelled like

Dried pike but you just chuckled

Wrinkled your nose

And kissed me like there was a prize in my mouth

Self Control

There is a writhing
worm in my mind snaking around the things I want to do to your body.
Instead I open the nearest book
to pour salt on the sex-crazed snail and feel
tight spasms in my biceps, my abdominals, my calves as she withers. She turns to a dreadful dried up carcass,
reduced to
chaff blown over
the page that reads:
"those that live in love, God draws to himself and encloses them within himself"

I close the book and dusty dead skin cells shoot out from both ends

On November 9th

leaf
come down

said the blue grass

but the yellowing fellow

only gripped tighter

to the brown barking

branch begging him to

break off, but in spite

his stem pinched

plugging both hands

white knuckled in

pathetic persistence

he wouldn’t pluck

refused to fall –

if it be the death of him

to fall meant to break

the wristwatch and tick

backwards, trickle

independently in to the

unkempt pile in the street

and become

one shade of red in a million

The Basement

She lingers outside the basement

Facing the closed door

Hugging her middle – she shivers

The door wasn’t this white last December

Or two years ago

When her mom repainted the kitchen

The knob, too, is duller bronze

And locked in place

Like a cocked rifle

Her shoulders shudder – crossed arms

Fingertips crimpling t-shirt fabric

The door was definitely not this white

Her eyes slam shut like dumpster lids

She remembers

What happened behind that door

Before she could even turn the kitchen lights on

Or remove her snow-spotted coat

He was pushing her down the stairs

Her lips curl over her teeth – she remembers

How his legs pinched her waist

Like a hungry bear trap

He forced his meat in her mouth

Vomit burns the back of her throat

She still tastes his salty brown flesh

Feels the freezing cement on her scalp

Her neck stiffens

The door couldn’t have been this white that December day

A rapid thud behind the basement door

Stampedes her pulse

Shoots her eyes open like high beams

And beats closer until

The door swings open

She falls back

Landing on her wrists

They crack like kindling

She’s angled on the linoleum

And her mother stands over her

Carrying a laundry basket

Overflowing with brown towels

“What are you doing on the floor?”

She props the basket on the couch

To fold the towels before they wrinkle

And forgets to close the door behind her

“Please empty the dishwasher like I asked”

But the dungeon is gaping, perpetually laughing

Her ponytail loosens as she scrambles

On her hands and knees

To grab the knob and hush the bully

Sloppily shutting him up pushing her back

Against him hugging her calves to her chest

Could the door have been this white this whole time?

Walking to Meet You

While crossing the bridge
Two swans sleep
S-curled necks
One touches the bank
The other floats behind
Teasing 6:30 sun
Cradled in rivers palm
They disappear upon our return
Perhaps they moved to willow shade

She the Sun

Sun, modest as she tends to be

Robes her form

With velvet dawn

Just before her pale tresses

Fall over the earth

Rabbits linger

On the edge of scattered lawns

The bleak night bleeds

Through Seneca Lake

At dawn he gorges himself

On her damp flesh

He slurps – sallow flesh

Hangs at the corners of his mouth

Lake water drips down his chin

The yellow mistress

Disrobes politely, steps forward slowly

A silent carousal of light  

Claims day begin

Her unveiled form shames him

I Can't Wait To Sit In Traffic With You

I on land

And you in the sea

Folding in the waves

Like shadow leaves at dusk

I in open air

You sheathed

With ocean mist

A broken clam shell

Next to dry weeds of the sea

On charred sand

Dull vertigo

Rides you in