Wild

It's nice to look at, this weakness.
It's shaped like a house, folded inward.
Wandering out into the night,
we misplace our dreams, tuck our sorrows
into swollen pockets.
I am mute, because words are forgotten here.
I am cold, because I left my coat at your place.
When we stumble over rabbit holes in the dark,
we remember our voices
just in time to cough and cry
into the night,
wondering if we can ever make it home.

October 19

Glass cavity,
pure and deep --
that is where
you hide your surprise, love
letters written in the night.

I feel your breath
on my hair,
feel your song
in my throat,
but I can't hear you
for my own voice --
re-discovered, dusted-off.

Hey, sugar,
sweetheart,
clear crystals forming --
encasing --
brain cells,
yeah, you snapped me,
snatched me up.

On Anger

The blood blister burst
when I was nine years old:
closed fist, closed heart,
dressed in a Disney dress.

I don't want pity.
I want soft eyes.
I don't want money.
I want love.

I never said it would be easy
opening that fist,
closing it around something warm,
something other than grief.

I never said it would be easy
or beautiful, because I'm neither.
I'm broke and broken.
Those are my crimes.
Leaving, with fists closed:
this is your regret for loving me.
I shoulder your blame,
blisters from the heat.
And yet the anger is always
yours.

Carrier Train

Waiting for light, the ah-ha moment.
It appears at the end of the tracks.
A crack in the jaw, eyes barely open,
I run toward jeopardy.
It's the last thing I see,
my hope, my end.

New York, 1942

Gd doesn't love a broke son.
He can't give back.
Gd doesn't love
the invisible daughter,
giving blwjbs in Harlem.

Gd doesn't love.

Rich men can get into heaven;
rich men own heaven.
The white and the pure
inherit the earth.
The white and the pure
inherit the history.

Trying to collect crumbs
with fingernails, we realize
Gd doesn't love.