Insomnia

Her sorrow is a lake
welling till drowning.
bottom traps in dim blue depths.

One sunny day, surface sailing
I'll stand in hateful sun
bubbling skin peeling
bald, skinned screamer
Blood flower
surface blooming
staining her
sorrow purple.

My sorrow is a cancer
eating me alive
lay beside his dreams at night
ceiling stare through tears
not unhappy is the next best thing
to being happy.

Passed

Today's forecast,
heavy paranoia
50 percent chance of rain.

Victim counterculture's north star:
excessive poor communication.

I'm nothing glamorous to come home to,
traveling model let down.
stick girl, scar bundles tension burnt
I throw up in the kitchen sink
while you awkwardly make love
and she says No.

she's floored
forcibly silent
you're out
I'm in
she's leaving
bed to drugs to bed
she's silent
I'm on the road

One of these days,
he'll send the strays
back to the pound.
They kill a lot of kittens there.

What is so ugly about me
that I have to rape you both
every fucking time?

Kitten

you're a kind man
you take in stray cats
nurse us to health
slender sleek, capable
Still cats, wandering.

You need to ask me to sit in your lap
I don't always want to be asking.

you talk a lot for someone who can't communicate.

You say you should quit cutting,
you should forget me.
I am not as understanding
as the woman we shared twelve months ago
when I knew you were distancing
too chickenshit to admit it
drank too much
sat by myself
watched your face
while she swallowed
other people admired your erection.

I've rarely known you to do what you should.
Haven't heard your voice in months,
save the twice you've bothered to communicate.
Not that I'm counting or anything.

I'm counting.
Even though math isn't my strong suit.
I've been spacing from you
gasp and burst, like orgasms
I used to bring you to,
in our hairspray haze.
White spray on black nail polish,
blurred youth's discarded snapshots
more beautiful because
I'll never quite remember or exactly see that boy again.
Alcoholic Adonis in oversized boots.

That was not so long ago,
but the new boyfriend sits across the room
asking why
I've got to pick up mouth corners
over the old boyfriend
suddenly boyfriend is a stupid word,
losing all connection to my reality due to over-repetition,
and the new girlfriend understands.

We held it together too long, and
we took each other too damn far.
If I were a kind woman,
this is where I'd apologize,
but I'm just not sorry.
I lied when I said I was
that cold drug fogged morning.

Tricycles are more stable than bicycles.
The new girlfriend holds my head
More tenderly than she ever held you
Not that I was watching.
Except that I can never look away.

Pressing my face into my palm

This, worst written
noncommunicating creation
Unmakes memory
so when I forget
I won't really.

I am terrified elation
Shallow bruised breaths
Change
mind
life
something

I've died,
but it was only a chrysalis.
I'm blood beating through fresh wings
unfurling May morning.

I don't know what the right thing is,
I don't know if I'm doing it.
refusing to focus on terror,
though chiaroscuro blue pulses at the edges of this red core.
I am reduced to noun.
burning eyes staring bleakly at the
(completely normal, mildly dis/content)
world.

I am not the only one, nor am I alone.
But things have come crawling out of my skin
nothing I was aware were there.

They have loved me the longest
have mainly got no idea
where I am
what I'm doing
This is less unusual than my guts think
But not the only way I feel.

Interchange exists.
Blue red neon scream
pushing each other out of the way.
I'm happy.
Incredibly happy.

Blue Paint

Your muse doesn't put three spoonfuls of sugar in her coffee
Or bruise easily
she's never tripped on the stairs
Your muse isn't scared of anything
she doesn't scoop the catbox
Looking through your extra eye
I see her
A thing of beauty
More concept than woman
More cunt than heart

50th date

Okay, so we've only been on five. I know what the relaxed safety of waking up after the 50th feels like, and that's what I was trying to get across here. Don't know if I managed it or not, but I do love these shoes, these shots, and the man who took them very much indeed.







This last one...that is what people who live in the Magical World of Anna wake up to. Come play.


photos by Asylum...
www.asylum-photo.com

Like Kissing God

God totally slips you the tongue
and sneaks a hand up under your shirt
God finger fucks me in an airplane bathroom because he can't wait till we hit the ground
God grabs your ass in public, when he knows the others can see
God waits til you're surrounded
and tugs your hair and scratches your back
when he knows you can't do anything about it until you've regained your privacy but not your composure
God knows the shape of my thighs in stockings like the back of his hand
he day dreams of holding me when he's supposed to be conducting business
God loses his train of thought when he muses on the outline of your nipples visible through your shirt
God blushes when he thinks about fucking me in an unrelated conversation
which happens more than God cares to admit
God just loves the texture of my pussy
God's never had it so good

(halfway conceived by Jon Mmmayhem, and desperately in need of a picture.)