on why I left you in such an awful fashion

because i need to be pushed but cradled at the same time.
because you made me afraid --- afraid to listen to myself, afraid to figure out who i am on my own.
you made me think i had to be XX, XX, XX.
so XX, XX, XX, i set my head on
and ignored my gut
and threw out my heart.

determined, yes i am, but in my own way.
motivated, of course, but i move at a slower pace.
i take it in, i breathe in deeply, and i watch
people's faces as they pass, and i memorize
expressions and impressions and each second i thank
the gods that i am here, and i
try to taste all the flavors, and that includes not just milk and honey, but
a) happiness, and b) sadness,
madness, gladness,
tiredness, and hopeless, impressed and distressed,
and every single color of every last (even the very last) brother,
and how we treat and (don't treat) one another

and i put them
into words so i can always remember. and i don't think
life is all about running.
running can cool the jets, running can make you forget...
running distracts you from the heaviness.
but i thank the lord for the heavy, i gladly carry
the heavy golden color of the sun and the heavier shadow
of everything it doesn't touch on my
ivory shoulders.

i live for the smell of books
and the rumination on memory
and the wondering why
and the contemplation of the blessing, and
how it shines in all of us, dark and bright, obvious and not. and
i mull it around on my tongue.
it tastes finer than
your finest manhattan wine.

i toast my own wine to you -- my wine of life. here it is.
enjoy your piles of money, stack them up as high as you can,
but they will never reach god.
down here where the people hum and sing, "hallelujah,"
in a unison
that shakes my skeleton
i have found a human divinity.

there was a fly on the wall
there was whiskey in the glass
there was an ant in the dirt
there was dirt in the ant
there was dirt in my eye
there was an ant in dirt in my eye in dirt
there was love in the dirt, loss and
tears (made of dirt) in the dirt.

sometimes i sit and tap my shoe
i type the words and words and words. it's a simple operation, i don't even have to
spell them right (the machine does it for me). sometimes i chew my gum and when that gets boring
i chew my straw, when that gets boring I chew my tongue, when that gets boring i chew my hair, when
that gets boring i go cross-eyed, when that gets boring
i close my eyes and think of
think think of your warm hard softness, and i can feel your hand
tracing up my spine, one vertebrate, two vertebrae,
clavicle, head, shoulders, fingertoes, and that
soft spot on my neck. i check the clock again.
tick tock, body rocks, your straights and all my curves. straight in the suit and a mess
outside.
sometimes i sit and tap my shoe.
i wait for you to make me a woman.

dear police, somebody
stole my soul. no one
saw them do it, it was a witnessless crime. i
didn't even catch it. see, this is a tricky one,
the soul is colorful to the heavens but
transparent to the earthly eye, and so I couldn't reach out
and grab it when they extracted it from my nose with a long skinny hook (well, that's how I'd imagine they'd do it, like the egyptians took out brains.)

if the soul
is like hope (and I hope it is) it is
a thing with feathers, and so that made
the theft that much easier, as my soul didn't really have to be pulled,
it was ready to go, it did what a soul naturally longs to do,
it floated on up and up toward
the lights and
the dancing, the painted colors and
pointed shapes.

i am dumb
my head is numb
my thoughts are all the floozies.

say little bird,
what have you heard? sing something loud,
undo me.

so
frustrated.
hitting my head into a wall just
so it can crack open even just a little bit just
so i can see some of what's in there see if there's
any brain in there or if it's been sucked out through
the phone that i answer every time it rings that owns me every time it rings and then
i push it to my ear and it reaches inside the words have legs they crawl up the canal they tell me what to think they take my thoughts and say there is not enough room in here this brain ain't big enough for the both of us and they push all
the pretty colors the pinksredoranges the pixie fairies and poppies and butterflies the odd clouds and clowns and cyclones and caravans that
are my dreams and fantasies
out
the other ear

it's funny how i can erase you without any
physical eraser leaving behind
not even the pink rubber flakes the thoughts and
memories and little touches that
erasers do. just close my eyes and it's
all
blank again. (fuck
where are you)