Same Page

I am reading a book the wrong book
the wrong stories on the wrong pages
it’s all I can do- avoiding the right thing
saying the right words the right lines
my mind- live action animation
an image of the real motion
constant constant throbbing
ocean liner crossing my tug boat
there is more hesitation- doubt than
I previously made assumptions over
hidden in- behind your professional phone voice
I am breathing- inhale slow (I get all
tense in this state- anticipation)
you missed me- I swear, I had your number
an image of a real boy
but there I go sticking my head out
in the wrong place reading the wrong lines
your story is the right page

3-30-99

Laundry

My will to resist you- I am a wall of gray lint
like the sort pulled begrudgingly off the dryer trap
my insides tumbling as I fall deep into this lull
where your voice both cuts and removes
these preexisting scars on my heart
missing a button can you fix?
a boy with a needle and thread
cannot see my body trapped inside the low cycle
down and down your apartment was a mess
like my mind I have porn on the bottom shelf
was that her toothbrush still?
I prefer to wait outside- it’s one of the things
I’m good at. I thought you would like to know.

3-18-99

Attributes Unlike A Lady

I am here again same girl like 1989-
1995 four more years makes no child a woman
on the other side of the line
were you right after all
am I fit to be sent down the river
I already know how to swim
So you can stop grinning up a storm
it’s not like a lady to lay sprawled
out heart stopping at the telephone ring
9:58 on St. Patrick’s Day
I’m Irish without a kiss
I am famished by this game
I swore I would not play
you said it doesn’t get better than this
are your on your way to explain
apologize I am not going to be home

3-17-99

But do I feel this way?

But do I feel this way?
These passions rubbing up against my sleeve.
I am not a princess (the name deceives).
I am not a damsel in distress awaiting a dream
with my golden locks tumbling down the tower wall.
I am a woman-child sitting in my pj's,
face freshly washed and ready for bed.

But do I feel this way?
These hopes clinging to a ray of possibilities.
My savior opens up his abyss for my elite eyes
to feast upon the untold riches of his heart.
I am not as good at math as I presumed
and my fingernails are short and unkempt.
I love my cat-I love to be alone. I have heartburn.

But do I feel this way?
But do I sit idly for my real world to begin?
The one with a two car garage
and little league in summer afternoons.
You are just a guy with bad taste in shoes,
good taste in music, and not enough sense
to call me on the telephone.
You are just a guy.

3-1-99