Infinity Blues Read online

  taking as much to disappear as needed

  in phrases until mutter comes

  or dawn

  or both

  and I trash my inside to reflect walls with receipts

  and directions to nobody’s house covering it.

  sick sick sick

  and nobody calls.

  I got a blue idea

  a blue idea for a blonde

  and neat rows of teeth gone crooked from crime

  and bum notes

  and cash

  I wanna try to remember what it was that made me happen so fast

  or kill it in one go

  paint a target on the ceiling of my room

  and open my eyes one morning

  surrounded by somebody better than me

  and prettier than you

  sick sick sick sick

  I make myself sick

  and this is why you love me.

  Red

  Red

  sleeping in the pile

  of pillows

  blueberry gardens

  in her closed

  freckled eyes

  lids shut soft

  under a halo

  of curls and fire

  Red

  dictionary legged

  brittle

  closes the book

  and returns to the rock

  with her light

  ships gone mad

  she signals

  into the frenzy of white

  water

  Red

  do you hear my voice inside your head

  when you see a pitiful thing?

  do you like to watch the weak ones fall

  when you see a weakness giving?

  Red Red Red Red Red

  go on, put your hand in his hand again

  dance with someone

  everything is music and lights

  shining in the ballroom dresses

  and shoes and feather caps

  silver and gold and gray

  clouds

  out the window where we are

  where i am in the hustling

  crowds of winter coats and bodies

  slightly drifting further down

  the river of tar

  and broadway in calm

  swift movements of panic and loss

  my life

  was

  Red

  sleeping in the pile

  of pillows

  blueberry gardens

  in her closed

  freckled eyes

  lids shut soft

  under a halo

  of curls and fire

  soon it will be time to go

  soon it will be time to go

  the kids will lead

  the adults

  to the jackets and coats

  by the door

  and rattling upon the floor

  near the shoes

  will be the encore

  for the night

  and once the handle turns

  the first ones go

  the dark street outside

  will suck us all dry

  from our skin

  to our bones

  into it

  and we will scatter like seeds

  on a single flower

  single

  rainflowers

  and in that house

  the music will dim

  the table a mess

  a wreck

  only plates

  of bones

  and i will know the names

  and faces

  burned into my eyes

  like

  a book with no spine

  and endless pages

  because if not now

  soon

  Spit Hits My Face

  once she spits in your face

  not really

  but close

  close like everything done is fuck you

  close as a person gets

  before their spit flies from their mouth

  and lands on your cheek

  warm and smelling of salt

  and filth

  it is over

  but a war

  that i won’t win or fight begins and all inside a head

  to kill the one who went inside them

  that is the fucking curse

  is having this dick

  and this ability with words

  and meaning shit

  that is the fucking reason everything is fuck you and spit hits your face without

  a sound

  and her not even there

  who is fucking

  who is sleeping from depression

  who cares

  fuck fuck fuck

  a bottle of seltzer

  some cotton swabs

  a cutting razor

  band-aids

  a piece of flesh-colored tape

  cut

  cut

  cut

  till it feels like it did when you would make yourself sick

  and vomit

  in case you weren’t perfect enough

  in case we went too deep and someone said i love you

  spit hits my face.

  every night

  here

  alone

  guilty as a dogbone

  chewed up

  off the roof of a speeding car

  thrown

  beheaded by truth

  dethroned

  from my tower of bullshit

  thank you

  no

  seriously

  spit

  spit

  spit

  spit hits my face

  forever

  forever

  i deserve it.

  It’s Time

  it is time for me

  to turn

  the rope round the dolly

  and cast the boat

  back

  into the sea of black

  concrete and tar

  and take the things i believe

  are me

  with me

  away from the grilled cake

  of this apartment

  and i am just numb

  and sad

  and rooftops bruised

  with sun and snow tan

  and madness

  minus the act

  somewhere in the past

  i turn your face into a laugh

  all the way from your stomach

  and we lie quietly

  and sleep

  cheek to cheek

  like children

  who found each other in the woods

  hungry

  and in need of sleep

  and

  if i stay inside that dream

  one more week

  i will die here

  an old woman

  for the loss of you

  in my old man clothes

  growing old with you in my dreams

  like an electric blueberry tree

  on pills

  sweet and not mean

  and

  i’d rather go out there and fight

  fight for it

  till i run out of steam

  i’d rather fish

  now

  but won’t because they all know

  i’d throw them back

  who could eat

  in times like this

  but you, or people starving hungry

  so i untie the rope

  and push myself back

  and off i go

  off

  into some new unknown

  sad

  like you never seen

  I Am a Cemetery

  so i am a cemetery of new ideas again today

  yay

  i got greased by lightning and terrified

  and whatnot

  went to the diner

  and it felt bad bad bad

  i walk steadily alone

  by myself

  with the new
one

  and even today she said,

  “it feels like there is a ghost in the room”

  so there it is

  again

  you

  so i am a cemetery of new ideas again today

  patches of clouds of red hair

  faint laughter

  i resume doing nothing constantly

  i am becoming like the hen

  clucking around the henhouse at night

  screaming for the eggs

  like the nest

  ill-fitted for the swollen bird who cannot fly

  for wings too long

  and body too large to fit inside

  and this is why i am me

  and sorry

  and swollen with pride

  i am like ten examples

  at once

  watching them collide

  like broken dinner plates in mid-air crash

  boom and bang

  crashing as i catacomb into the tile

  i should have stayed simply alone longer

  for a while

  so i am a cemetery of new ideas again today

  But Still

  I am haunted up the coast

  it can’t be soon enough

  that sand

  that gets in your toes

  goes back to the side of the sea

  and our ship is forgotten

  off the reef

  and abandoned for a mossy grave

  and fish

  curious

  and interested in the dark deep places

  they dwell

  I am haunted in the house

  it can’t be for this long

  that sound

  that rings like my voice

  talks to you still in accidental phrase

  when it is for me

  or someone else

  deserved

  with good will

  calm

  slowly my tanks refill themselves with new things

  and light

  but still

  I am haunted

  it can’t be for long

  and

  it can’t be soon enough

  but still

  Every Day

  Every Day I Die some

  turn some

  i get up to the gate

  i buy the ticket

  i wait

  i watch others go by

  every one

  i wonder to myself if it cares

  the hole

  going

  is it through

  i don’t

  not if it’s going to mean something

  something to her

  and not me

  trying to erase a “you”

  a her

  to me,

  i will not miss the swing

  false tides and moon

  throwing my face against the wall

  i violate my own space

  struggle

  born like that

  a closed-open wound

  disgusting

  and always too soon

  i am all this

  so i wait

  unafraid

  lazy in fact and faint

  barely a person

  barely

  skydragon

  skydragon

  your reflection casts light back into sky-swallowing clouds

  rolling and gray

  doing inner ear like shapes

  inside themselves

  there are lights on inside you

  people in there

  turning them on and off

  like skin cells

  activating a new tingle

  in your metallic body

  in your perfect way

  standing alone

  indifferent

  cold

  like a fuck-you to the sun and the night

  like a drunk

  skydragon

  off Fifth Avenue

  you old whore you fucking crooked face

  did you let yourself get that way

  from design

  or from lack of the energy to stray

  because you got tired

  and if he crawled over you

  in merry ol’ England

  maybe you might get some sleep

  and it’s more trouble to be desired

  than had

  or so you thought

  in his hotel room, in his bed

  even though you said he wore you down

  that rat-face

  that scumbag

  you let inside

  his office empty but his name upon the door forever

  wasteful

  on your way home somefuckingwhere

  wherever that was

  Almost Out

  i am almost out

  ten cigarettes went quick

  like that

  half a day

  one left

  with a butt in the tray

  i’ll smoke that as i write

  ok?

  i have a face burnt in my eyes

  i have a hand burnt into my hand

  i have a heart

  or what is left of one

  a rolling desert

  fucked white with sand

  and bright

  from heat

  saturated into the light

  in my gills

  when i turn into the fish

  out of the water tank

  into her cup

  like a lower-class wish

  i am a volcano

  i am ready to erupt

  a tsunami

  smashing into her coast

  pulverizing the beach

  making toast out of a hotel lobby

  nice

  with your nose raised and glazed

  like a donut covered in salami

  so snobby

  flying like a witch to an invitational snitch

  gathering

  pink lights shine above a liquor store

  called “the pink elephant”

  now THAT’s funny

  i know those people

  their sad dinner food

  their reluctant sway

  they too

  are almost out

  we are all

  almost out

  of something

  almost.

  Cease Fire

  once the fires of hell cease

  cease fire

  and the smoke clears

  that is what i started with

  those words today

  i stop

  looking at your face

  or thinking

  about your hands

  i loved them

  i loved your hands

  hands

  like if they were designed by a god

  regardless

  of him

  an afterthought

  when he made them

  like a painter

  slashing a definitive historical line

  across a canvas

  as he turned

  to discuss the morning news

  with an old friend

  that was your hands

  on

  my skin

  and

  today the sun eats the spaces

  between buildings

  dogs go crazy people lightly cuss

  and the colors

  people wear

  go thoughtless

  because

  we have a temperature

  and everyone is

  aware of their neck

  chest and back

  for

  small patches of wet

  salty pools

  and

  of all days

  of any day

  as i sit and wait

  to leave

  for no reason

  i

  imagine

  your hands again

  and not the faces of men

  they touch now

  n
or

  their long digits fiddling with pens

  or thank you notes

  or receipts

  nor

  of them silently at your side

  waiting

  to dart

  into the air

  at a party because there is always a party

  and how the ends of them will turn in

  like claws on an eagle

  when

  you make that point

  when you stress the word

  so hard

  it bends

  then breaks

  and becomes

  an actual word floating

  before us all

  hovering in mid-air

  for

  your mouth made it

  and your hands

  they

  were enough to break a heart

  watching them

  lie still

  across your side

  as

  you slept

  in

  those beautiful days

  the

  future

  looks

  so

  fucked

  now

  Dream Past This

  If you dreamed past this

  past this part

  with me

  you would see the raspberry hollows

  marsh-mossed rock

  and what my eyes are

  those

  blue

  two

  loose

  marbles

  and surround us, very little light between us

  in the dark spaces

  would he like neon outlines

  and you

  you would speak “speekahlikah thees”–laughing

  and you

  “speekalikah that” as we talked of our original

  first or

  in my case

  lower-class mythology stomping grounds

  and i would laugh

  like a Southerner does

  because

  we are taught young to make much fun

  of others, despite ourselves,

  cobwebbed duck-limbed south

  people we are

  even when we defect like me

  a defector

  dedicated to an island

  as if to share

  a recreational dream

  or an isolation

  masked

  as a shared dream

  my born-cross, every fell pine rocked of its salt

  from the air of the coast

  my miserable cobblestoned wishes

  and that God-forsaken ocean

  that sound of doom and chaos

  it created

  it really brought me to my knees in despair

  those forever-nights

  BUT

  if you dreamed past this part

  you’d see me

  strawberry-red, laughing so hard

  over milkshakes in a diner so bright

  so alight with you

  or

  something, something just like this

  maybe waiting, maybe

  if i trust my spells of tireless excitement

  this city

  maybe

  if

  BubbleGummed

  (for Mary-Louise)