smokey

curled around you, oddly intimate

maybe you love me? I want to keep you

in the hollow of my hip, leaning

so tightly-soft together; I pull my fingers

down your slate-grey spine and you arch

Halloween-style

little paw-toes uncurl

lamp-slit eyes in the dark

(hum-purr)

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coterie

(The Mindy Project says

that psycho people can make friends. That I

can make friends that stick. I will run up stairs

to find them. Gamble for it. Dance in the dark.)

The girl who did my nails had bright blonde bangs

and we talked about “down the shore”. Maybe

I am actually from somewhere. Maybe I have a tribe.

My Delaware valley accent is back. Outside smells

like the Easter baskets Nana Wagar gave us that one year.

I’m under the gun again, but with so much home stored up here

I can get back on that motorcycle and cruise over these buttery roads.

Someday he will sing “Sha-la-la-la-in love with a Jersey girl!” and I

will be that girl. We will stack rocks at the Cape May sunset.

The band will play again. I will get splinters on the boardwalk,

hell, maybe even a spray tan. No one would judge me for it.

My wanderlust has been beaten, frozen out of my heart.

I just want to sleep till noon and wake up somewhere

safe. I want to give my kids

this sandy soil, as it pours through my manicured fingernails

and (no one called me “weird”.) they will pluck tulips

and yell,”tractor!” The old folks church will smile

and take them out to breakfast. (as they loved me.)

packed/storage: south jersey

tight chest & gleamy eyes

gaping out the window at some memories

which flow over the wide grasses

the flickering trees that flash by

as sunlight dapples, shades, twists

a hint of nostalgia, the recall

of something good. Spring has sprung

what can I fear? this is real, I think

or at least I was

loved here once

i want to go home

[pressure]

i am tiny pieces taped together

so tight, too tight, stress-hugging my knees

and i feel no older than eight,

the same innocent naivety at my centre

the tension pushes me in and pulls me out

so i am all edges and no rest

[collapse]

distanced hypothesizing

“poverty and death” said the classmate

self explanatory, the overused overwritten idea of something

never experienced completely known

to the point of cliche.

 –

I –  in whom these bitter texts

ring and resound like churchbells in my ribcage

painful, horrible truth

guilty of wealth, seeing that which is untouchably impoverished

– am incredulous that this hideous,

so close to my heart and home

is so easily exhausted when never encountered.

full.

How do you explain to someone that you are in love with everything they do?

Maybe it is just because I am lonely most days,

but I would love to bask in the shadow of your hair.

I’m trading love, not lust, just a taste

of your heart has me hooked. You’re my hero

In my little, mostly empty room of a world.

Come see the pictures I have on the walls.