Page I
there is prozac on ice,
melotonin, caffeine,
all those things that keep the stasis in me,
underneath the umbrella
engraved on your skin
i wonder once again
about how it has been
being lassoed to you
your mary magdalene.
i walk in the gutter
i roll your cigarettes
freeze your cool piano keys
ease your tourette's,
for you are the microcosm
of my fancy.
mordant calf to the slaughter you are.
and my body as the paper,
the envelope,
the glue,
the pillowcase your dreams
are encased inside too,
you're simply intent that
your message will go through-
perhaps it's for me.
perhaps it was you.
Page II
now always to be the wax
dripping off my wrists,
now always
the ink spilling over my lips
and rocking my boat.
but being tethered
to you
doesn't burn, but
cools my throat.
blood and chiffon,
blades and bruises
when i think of your elusive mind.
my stomach is full from you
its been a long time.
