writing’s gotten harder than it used to be

leaves thickening,

stars playing games

with the sticks they throw at me

sticks attached to me--attached to my brain as it spins again

this used to be so easy

but my arms are empty

the branches bare

 

no, actually thats a lie

because im turning 90 and all i find

is the thorns that thrive within my palms

no wonder i’m hard to shake

 

and the fruit that bubbles is not of my design

i never meant for this to happen

never meant for you to be born

not in my head, not in my thoughts

not in the west

the home of deadly earthquakes

not in my mouth, not chewing my already bleeding gums

do you heed any of this, i’m yelling--i’m thrashing

 

it must just be the wind

 

and i see it

you

and you’ve found me once again

the door frame tastes metallic

but your eyes spit it out

carpet wearing dust like a veil

shielding--protecting

slipping back at the kiss of your footsteps

approaching

intensifying

encroaching my joy

the green of you iris finds mine and melts my dam--your venom

waterfalls stream as the siren hooks my lungs

if safety is an allusion, what have you taught me?

to bury, no, mummify these complexing and harrowing transmissions?

 

it hurts

because i remember your voice

not through the telephone

or the slow chewing at my earlobes

but the sweet yet slimey sounds of you announcing me your friend

your best friend

the only soul that hadn’t disowned you

i remember our conversations

as we talked about God, and death, and the spirits that whispered to you

and tomatoes, and loneliness and who would sit at our tables

the few, the proud, the emotional, who must be protected at all costs

the ones who’d die, we will die--if not for each other

fingertips roaming down my shoulder blades, rubbing all too fondly

lips spilling you love me

lips pressing against my cheek

lips spewing anger and hatred and pain--at me

into me

into these thoughts and functions I call breathing

walking, talking, thinking, loving, kissing, hugging, panting in and out

why don’t you leave?

 

can’t you see you haven’t seen

not a inch of my face?

not a glance--not a picture

heard my voice?

read my words?

can’t you see I’m trying!

 

can’t you see the eraser that sways from left to right

and right to left

and again to right

--this VCR i so badly want to throw in a fire

dissipate from my attention

glued in my hands and i can’t seem to hurl it

 

i’m weak.

cowardice.

but at least i know i’m alive.

at least i know i write better than you

--breathe better than you

stand with a wider chest...

and all of a sudden,

in a sick twist of things,

you’ve made it easier.