ten rubbery fingertips

The ins and outs of circumference;

lime light, fistfight

vocalization of your edacious attitudes (and all of that)

My shape is hourglass

not square.

The naked denotation of regret

(I would love to see you naked) and

(I would love to see you dead) but

an Indian summer is coming

and I walked through a door today for the last time;

smelled the fresh (tomorrow is April) air

and took each step one at a time

noticing when a white van passed me in the parking lot;



walk around the block when it gets dark just to smell the salt in the air.

The outs

and ins of sainthood - it must be nice to never question yourself.

Know - that what you do is right

before you do it

instead of just waiting for the fallout.

I wrote "thanks" on a piece of paper in blue ink

and burned it; I would never say it straight to your face

but I meant it

when I wrote it.

The above and below -

shallow in all directions

wade though favoritism and nepotism and throw my head up when I hit air -

that long





downward spiral of (something that I've never been able to name)

all the same - we love you,

we'll miss you

we appreciate you - but in the end we don't want you.

You say slut like it's a joke,

just another stereotype,

anatomy of my openings being too overused -

I guess I've had a lot of soulmates in my life,


when his hand's


down on me

I learned not to cry out

but take it like a woman

with no other choices.

Don't drink the water here;

soaking up the lines on this over used carpet

it stings on the way down

but I will never forget the shape of that boy

coiled like rope, twisted in the depths of his pliƩ

his back to me, and the music dancing from wall to wall.

I can't fall - I won't fall;

pick up the waning edges of my boundaries

and wax like a wolf at the window -

we play this game

you and I

of flotsam and jetsam

where I run away but always come back

but when you leave

you're lost for good.