Say What You Will

18 Sep


the hollow place of a foot
soul searching
night under lamp-lit arches
bookcase for a window

gin on our tongues, warm and
wormy in each other’s
mouths, put the umbrella
in the corner, it’s falling apart
a bulimic stem in glass vases

paint, oozing through a
still life—bleeding hats
into beards into collars

we run on schizophrenic
streets, alone under
the voyeurs at their windows
dark spots between legs
from shadow or neglect

they leak onto the sills

hanging on my every word
she can hang her hat
on the coat rack I bought this
afternoon; she can pile
boxes in the kitchen,
on my desk, unused all summer
she can force me
into quietness
all those things people say
I’ll let them say them about me

our shoes mingling
in the closet, like our fingers
when we aren’t asleep,
blanketed in
the welcome chill

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: