Clickety-Clack.

The sounds 

of a dissertation

unstalled.

Dishes break themselves
on the kitchen floor.
Cupboard-doors slam
against the woodwork.

I watch as a woman
(who for so long
has been invisible)
tries to make herself known.

A women is bent

into a staircase

and walked upon.

To her,

I am 

just a strange

sack of skin

with eyes.

We come home 

and find

the compassion 

we've saved

(for years)

is gone.

A woman weeps
over gallon jugs:

three for a quarter

one for a dime.

Gray

I slip into silver

on the slipperiest

of slopes.

From faucet to drain -

she appears and vanishes

like drops of water.

Hands on a Mug

Oolong tea

oozes warmth

and reprise.

Unaccomplishment

whimpers

in a dream

of powdery snow

We are dragged

through winter days

so swollen 

with rain and mud

Holiday Conservation

We patch

together

and iron out

the torn

and crumpled-up

wrapping paper

Flakes

You give to me

that pan-fried, 

fishy smile again.

The foliage unwinds -

our hands sway 

above the orange 

and browns

I find holes

in bed

where

I've slipped

away.

Lemonade

We toss her tears

from the windowsill

and make rainbows.

She folds 

green sheets

twice over.

Along 

the worn 

down

edges

she revisits

the memory

of her rape.

Perspective

Some will say 

that you ran away

(and that is fine).

I know you ran away

to find me

(and that is better).

The immunity of trauma

held hostage in secrecy.

A bird flew

straight into me 

and died.

My becoming 

invisible

grows

 

from persons

to animals

She is salt and flesh -

an oyster melting

in my mouth.

I can no longer figure out 

why I spend so much  time

changing zeroes into ones

and then back again.

She sleeps

with her eyes

wide open

because she fears

I'll leave.

I am surrounded

by an army 

of sticky notes

I have hung myself

like a banana,

to ripen and fall

Brush strokes 

of coffee

paint 

every aspect

of my life

including

my dissertation

With such vivid colors,

she illustrates her mind

with denial and regret.

Stretch me 

across your life

so thin

I'll disappear

OK

All of this -

breast cancer, divorce,

and a car accident -

renews her faith

that nothing

will ever be

Thoughts of You in Banff

I can see you

in the reflections

of mountains

so crisp

and gently laid

against these emerald

glacial lakes.

Coming back

through the rain
does little
to wash away
your sorrow

or

to soften
the edges
of a jagged
mind.

A deep sigh

The bottle you once
gripped so tight
dislodges
from between
your legs
and rolls away.

Epistemology

From my bed I hear
the screaming of rabbits
murdered in the night.

Although I never hear
your screams,
I know that they are there.

She falls into bed
like cement.

We carry our disagreements

down along a spiral staircase

and bury them among the dead.

When the bones of our past have risen,

we will know its time to part again.

A tangle of living

A young man brushes past simplicity

and sighs.

Beyond the grainy chips of skull,

the dents of having loved remain.

In the bronze factory of my mind,

the girls are all dipped in liquid strawberry.

Oh dissertation... please write yourself

I find you
crying in the fridge
again.

Among
the sour milk
and rotting greens,

you've keep cool
your salty
tears.

She squeezes
at her heart
like a beet.

In red,
she watches the juice
of her past strain away

Dear Emptiness,

This is just to say,
you've been filled.

In the pantry of my mind,
all the women have spoiled but one

Treachery builds
first in the stomach
and then upwards
toward the lungs.
A splattering of chunky
yellow vomit.
Why is it at these times
I remember you?

News from Watching the News

A car syphons milk for young babies.

A telephone cord gives CPR to the nearly dying.

A mirror watches a young girl starve to death.

Shrapnel eradicates hunger in Iraq.

A paperless sky

The faint unraveling

of tears

unlozenged

and descending.

I watch

as a poster of sky

detaches from the ceiling

and falls between us

Companion

She ratchets

imaginary love

back into existence

and drags it

to bed,

screaming

of the mechanical

unfleshing

The yellowing
of our faces
nearly browns
us away.

Perhaps
when the purples
of mistrust
have faded

our hues
will have softened
in the pinkening
of recovery.

The measured pasting
of our congratulatory handshakes
repeats like mindless keystrokes
from one window to another.

The windows have all sprung leaks.

In the memories of warmth

you just barely survive.