March 24th, 2010
sounds #15: pleas
pluck my spine
like elastic
prick my
fingertips
with pins
pinch and pivot
my toes into points
plate my teeth
with nickel
and run a current
through them
trick me
into pins and needles
nettles and poison
break me
to remake me
please
sounds #14: breakfast
Knives clatter
and argue
in the drawer.
Tea cups
bump handles,
give the silent treatment.
I spit in your
juice
and burn
your mushrooms.
March 23rd, 2010
sounds #13: creep
talking too close
he’s wild
spider-eyed
and wraps me
in an armchair
to let fingers
drip
like rain
down my neck.
sounds #12: belmore falls, february
The big
melaleuca
flicks and droops
like a drunken
Narcissus.
I salute it with half a beer.
A storm bird spits
one gunshot cry
in return.
The melaleuca
nods
with a soft
patter
of spray:
an understanding.
sounds #11: electric acoustic
I turn off the radio
mid-song
and sidle to the curb.
Wind sound
rises and falls
above the idling motor
as the whole hectic world
blows down your street.
I take one still moment
to watch your window
before I honk the horn
to bring you
rushing out
with your eyes
in the headlights and
good golly Miss Molly
your dress
your hair
electric and alive.
March 22nd, 2010
sounds #9: escaping face
every sentence he says
ratchets her jaw a little tighter
he fills the silences
she creaks under the strain
her eyes empty
blue
hollow with echoes
sounds #8: teeth
I’m your fox
my tiny bones caught
tremoring with drumming heartbeat
and the slow twitch of shock.
My hair matted
from the damp of your palms.
Thin in my own skin, binding,
unbinding, doublejoints.
I leap
I rip
but can’t tear loose.
sounds #7: clockwork
Their hearts beat like a clock
beat like a pendulum swinging
its arc. But together they walk,
and swing out their arc, and
their steps together are not a
clock, they are apart and away
and close together, not keeping
time.
sounds #6: washed up
dirty like a barnacle
dull and prehistoric
my torn edges
just above the tide line
I hear his pulse in the surf
his fingers rasp the sand
and search for mine
the sun angles me
dries muck into my hair
my warm breasts
peaking shell-like
I watch the horizon
salt-rough
stare straight
until his hands recede