this morning i went for a run in the rain.
i felt like i was in a movie about saving the world.
i thought if i was in a movie about saving the world you would be the girl i’d save.
i am not implying you need saving.
i think you are a strong independent woman.
You are the whole building on fire.
You are the voice of sirens.
You are flames licking up the escape.
You are like a cloud. Grey and you don’t hold anything.
You are that moment before a falling, the falling,
a whir of falling, a wail of falling, the sweet
You are black blood flaring across the concrete.
You are a needle in the groove of a very sad song.
The whole building burns with you."
My heart’s aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it’s throbbing!
then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.
I love you. I love you,
but I’m turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.
sick as I am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,
and I’ll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
Cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick
with bloody blows on its head.
I embrace a cloud,
but when I soared
That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest
oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as I step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky and
glistening with a passion for running
I leap into the leaves, green like the sea
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.