looking back in
a mirror of bending and folds of fabric
people smiling at the product
of a labor that
every day i feel a descent of
confidence capability courage-cowardice
writing a song but the roiling
mass-frothing beneath my throat hand
right between my pointer and index finger
pinching a trigger looming over an edge
staircase in a parking garage, now
i hold chalk
and with broad slashes parallel
swings striking for the throat
throw pink bones onto the concrete walls
emotions flood uncontrollably unreliably uniformulaywomanlike
and i've never been this honest
and now the chalk gives her wings as she
flies down the steps and catapults herself into the walls
eels in the sky bruises on her chest arms neck
shoulders turned inwardly to distort and
returns views with furled convexity
before the air was hot so long ago
up so many stairs the pressure builds
and beyond everythingborn she has never felt
and now the wings grow larger swaddling a
crying finch warbling below
im so stupidim sostupid im so oh mygod how could i ruin thingsso badly
and the finch stops and is free
and leaves the nest on the top floor
to find out if she can fly.
the pen is back the stare at
sheets of paper that the sour amine hatred fog
rolls through the fold of my grip
any exertion feels too much any constructive effort
rebellion against an entropic existence of collisions
the self in my memories how is it so
much better than i am? the self in my memories how is it
so even though all of them are lambasting odes of
dismayed expecations wasted privilege vomiting
on a tiled floor and crawling to a drawer filled
with plastic spoons oh how nice would it be
to peel back my sclera and sever all my
nerve endings instead of
begging for that which i already have.