I am no polished, smooth-skinned, arms extend-
ed beauty. I have no sleek-and-shine, just
too much extra time.

I am no floating candle, light in the window in
the deepest of the deep dark night, hidden by
fabric folds and

I am no different than any other clam, happy though,
I have made no pearl, I have ground no sand.

I am no morning song, sung by bell birds in the
chorus at dawn, no breath of fresh air, I have the same
ideas as you do about most things.

I have not felt
I have not felt
the strain of heart-strings or the popping in my ears
due to the loudness in my own head, no crowd of heavenly
angels singing in the background as my teeth become brighter
because they feel sunshine in the width of my smile. I have
not felt the longing to be near a person for more than an hour,
much less the rest of my life, I can convince myself that it
wasn't what I thought it was, that it was a fluke but then I
remember

"It said 'STOP' but we went on whole-hearted
it ended bad, but I love what we started."

if you had looked

behind my lips, down
my throat like an express - you would have seen pink flowering
beneath folds of conversation, you would have seen a bud
o   p   e   n   i   n   g

(you drink me up
as if I were cheap
boxed wine

swallow me whole &
I sit
warmly
territorially
giddily in your
stomach)

if you had looked,
in the root of the root of
the deep deep down
of me

you would have seen
that I was asking you
to be
mine.

Until I feel this, I won't

I am a raw slab of meat and you are
a bo-na-fide
butcher's knife.

Each cut is at a 45 degree angle, precise, your signature
in the perfection of each placidly placed slice.

No accidental nicks in my hide, just
intentions and too much extra time.

too much
rubbish, like
tight pants around the middle -

suffocating and uncomfy:
much rather walk around in undies.

"Like a black hole, the increasingly
self-absorbed person eventually 
becomes incapable of
mirroring anyone."

- Frank James Davis

can't be your chapped-lips-chap-stick,
be your late night calls or
your first morning breath, can't
be your warm fingers and can't
be your blooming bruises around
the neck.

all it will take

floral pants, a 

better sense of humor, 

some ability to maneuver between

sleep and the pre-dawn hours, 

enough of a house to keep 

the bugs out

the cat in

and a handful of 

mountains outside

my door. 

There are people whom, upon entering the room, 

make me wish I could vomit on cue. If just to show them

what a bad taste

they leave 

in my 

mouth. 

I am no polished, smooth-skinned, arms extend-
ed beauty. I have no sleek-and-shine, just
too much 
extra 
time.

Jessi,

I'm sorry that I lose you in the crowd sometimes.

even if you've sunken deep into 

uncharted waters, even if you 

are dis a   p   p     e         a                r                     i                           n              

even if you are being eaten by 

my subconscious and by many

hours spent aching on my part

at least I know you're alone. 

utterly, terribly, wonder-

fully alone.  

get to know me,
I'm good, I swear.
sometimes I even do pretty things
sometimes I make funny faces
you could record them with a shaky camera, if you wanted,
while my voice is awfully fuzzy, but you can hear me saying,
"this couldn't get any better."

get to know me,
my hair isn't that bad, I swear.
my eyes aren't sunken like this
sometimes my room is clean
sometimes I will make you food
sometimes I will do cute things.

get to know me
I don't rust, I swear
I don't unfaith
unhope or
untrust.

well, maybe the trust.

but get to know me
I'm good,
I swear.

God I just want to help, I just want to help.
Because I can't do anything else.

I have no
stomach,

I need to feed my head.

I thought that I'd lost my voice in all the

bustle - dragging me behind like the train 

on her wedding day. 

gone hoarse - my voice was clawing the inside of my throat, trying

to reach the top of my mouth and 

shout! something!

think I'm finding another voice, think
I don't have another choice. 

I try to say things that
people will remember, I think
"someday one of these people will
say it's something they'll cherish"
I think like that a lot. Too often, maybe?
I don't know what 'too often' is, most
of the time.

too much trouble,
too much trouble to move myself like
I'd like to move. too much trouble to
brush the dust from my shoes, too much
trouble! to pick up my feet like good girls
do.

like I'm sitting
on my foot and I'm
losing circulation and
it's too much
trouble
to move.

like I'm cold
and there's a jacket
on the bedpost
but it's too much
trouble
to use.

two eyes closed like pinched, pursed like lips
on the verge of speech, it's funny how
long it's taken to be able to see them properly
and how longingly I would wait for your big
beautiful globes to spout a simple greeting but
I would rather grate my skin like cheese
than hear your mouth say another
thing.

You're a jerkjerkjerk.
But I like the sound of your voice.

I feel
I will take
everything for
granted
even-
tually.

passive by nature - television and cigarettes - it makes me
sick to think about sex and adventure and
good things I don't deserve, it makes
me sick to think about anything at all.

I wish I could just sleep and never
ever be hungry because
you can sleep
anywhere and
no one will
care if you're
sleeping.

I excel at making mix-tapes and being alone.

"The most important people in your life are the ones you can picture sitting on a porch with."

Leaving for the night, I looked
at the table by the big window that everyone
wants. The last table of the night had sat there:
two young men and a
lovely young lady so,
thinking of Mason Williams,
I walked over and touched
the handle of her
coffee mug.

feed myself in a timely
fashion, I can seek water and
drink when I am thirsty, I can
find myself in predicaments and
I predict I will make it out
of them. I can work until my
fingerstoesnoseandlips are
nubs or non-
existent, I
can make
my own
sweet
sun
shine.

in my own
sweet
time.