Hour Glass
you are soluble: cords and membranes and
skeleton crystallized stiff and swollen-
knuckled floating in water—slowly dissolving, dis
membering inside-out—and your own
consumption catalyzing your disintegration back
to bloated and soggy bones deflating into
the dirt clogged with rotting coffins. your poison
doesn't glow radioactive neon like legato
laughter frothing at the rim of the bottle
you suck dry as bone, as if you could
drown the fear crawling along the bottom
of your eyes and corrode the rust until
you're sleek and shining as they
say they say they spout they pour
slur-polished words and you lap them
up relishing the burn and all the colors
imploding on you like fireworks:
flashboombang louder and closer until
you throw it all up and start again. night tingles
in your fingertips, dying nerve ends, white noise
growing until it smashes up your spine like
a sledgehammer against grand piano
keys. the darkness builds; you can feel
it like tears pooling in the ruts and nooks
of your eyes. will you be too blind to see
headlights cracking your windshield? snap
out of it: your metal framework is nothing under
the weight of the ocean you tried to drain;
there is no plug to pull and you're drowning yourself
in a bath tub, leaving greasy fingerprints on
the marble sculptures you wanted to be
remembered as—cold and smooth and
unbreakable. when you've finished
drawing gills on your neck with hiccupping hands,
you'll pop like a soap bubble spattered
all over the upholstery in your lexus pushed
to one hundred miles and more and more. so
throw your head back and the knots
clench around your throat—you're only
a few inches from being off the ground so gulp
them down. i would cut the ropes from you,
but the moon's arrow-through-my-heart has not
been reeled out of my chest and i will not follow into
the dark storm surge foaming rabidly jaws sinking
into you. come wading back to shore or dissolve.