After Saying
I had the taste of honking car horns and
empty bottle spasms over lacking your love,
nothing splendid as English textile, Milanese silk,
mere stewing sinew, fever-frozen in pale
still.
Checkered cloth we wrapped around our hands
to keep from cutting bruises, marked
as continuity from our father's pounding
the brick of uncosted houses, the grace of their
silhouettes.
If I said a cruel feeling, cost of lifetime
to learn how it was, you'd take
the bitter swallow to avoid thought, and
if I said I fell in hopeless limerence, you'd never
know.
Prying
There was a judgement coming on, rat-like
scurrying to hiding places far from eyes to see
how ill-fitting, ears to hear how uncouth
the hanging clothes soaked in gin bathtubs.
Pointed, sharp as dagger-teeth, to the creaking
of pre-chosen knee points, heavy breathing
chest fat and dead-chosen 9 o'clock dinners;
yes, you could all stare.
Mockery's tithe, cost of betterment cheaply
sought, the comparison of thinning hair, overfed
belt; tried to escape the lies of watery mirrors,
eyes as cold casting considerations as any pair.
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