Appeal or What I wish I said when you told me it was “because of my outfit”
Like simple moths
i have no taste
for anything
but shelter—
Your poems
they bore me your songs
they eat me
alive—
When i learned from you
what a woman is a series
of revolving doors
a circuitous
Entry point i made
a list of all the films
i’ve watched that made me
Weep—
Our conflict:
your dry eyes,
the options for me:
my nothing
Or my something
which could kill—
& if you need an image, watch the leaves
as they revise themselves
So gorgeously & ask them
if they do it
for attention— & while I walk
that long long distance
Of your mind imagine
a man leaning out his truck Spitting
in the spot
where I refuse him—
Watch him remind me what No looks like
all pressed into concrete
like that—
& for God’s sake LOOK
For the moonlight exhaust the women
rowing quickly thru the Blue—
travel with them those twenty long paces
toward home—
Breathe, again, enough to carry
the self back
thru a threshold,
thru familiar light,
Reminded now
of this film this body
how far
it is
From over—
and, at once,
how close,
darling,
How close
it is
to being
finished.
Each year my tits get a little lower
if the acorn were a person
i would’ve just witnessed
vehicular manslaughter
& it would have been
my fault
a text from yankee candle
Big sale
my cold pinned limbs
among clots of magma
leaves they look so much
like perfect little lungs
pulled out of a deer
in biology class thinking always
of science all those simple
solutions how much better
this air would be if they didn’t build
fucking Cracker Barrels or the corresponding
billboards & now the men r painting
the windows of an old house in Wilkinsburg
yellow like the custard depicted in the Good
Housekeeping cookbook i found on the curb
a few weeks ago & carried it home imagining
a dinner party a phat jiggling dessert with perfectly
suspended fruit & a conversation that looks right
past me but I am so so glamorous I laugh anyway as I pour
pour pour each seamlessly emulsified drink
