and what if i decided to take kissing seriously
from now on to ink every soft pair of lips
onto my body in some way
not a tally mark — nothing so crass
but to make each kiss so meaningful
that i could draw a symbol or word
and use it as a public mark
what then? if i were to really show
how it feels on the inside: indelible
i would make conscious choices
about the way i smiled out loud
and would never be alone with a man
undeserving of my skin
perhaps i could stop thinking
of myself as a gift to be given
and if the ones who kissed me
knew this new law, would they
treat me with more or less care?
“right.”
the sentence a string of pearls, broken
words accurate and precise rolling madly
under the mini-fridge, riding the escalator
across and down the shallow streets
i slipped pratfalling to laugh shame
back into its little closet. all day i chased words
to no avail and as i shuddered into sleep
they appeared to me and i chanted them and
prayed them, rolled them in my mind’s hand
to give you on waking. they dissolved
in my dream, i woke up in the blank
with nothing to offer, rolling soft wet clay
into rough beads to hang on your every
thinking out silent: i have wondered
about the blazed x on the map
the length and depth of desire
more than the angles or weight of what’s
buried in the salty sand. but you asked so
i am looking for a human poem. the right
words in the right order, understandable
with more meaning if one simply commits
time and effort to parsing, to dreaming
i am looking for a proofreader
for this nth draft of a self
who loves long jagged digressions
unafraid to exchange carets and stets
someone who can dig
and dig and dig
when i met god it confirmed that it is love
i am searching for someone
who prays the language
i am tired of this treasure hunt
and down deep there is a blown wish
to bury my shining self
in someone else’s map
do
i have two blue tablets
in the orange bottle to my left
in the purse with the flower print
and yes i probably shouldn’t start
childproof top break glass in me
and pull lever: so i do, like you
i have one pill i haven’t squandered
finger its score and wonder
in case of emergency
if i chew it when it all comes apart
will it kick quick enough for me
to numb the well-deserved panic
tonight: another embarrassed apology
waiting sleeplessly
the results of sublimation sealed
in an envelope the size of a human heart
what must you think of me
running my mouth off like this
i have a doctor’s visit tuesday
and i know she’ll say
it’s chronic but not terminal
like every other malignant part
of the person i reluctantly call me
not terminal but hopeless all the same
roll your eyes like i know you will
i could just ask for more blue pills
there’s got to be another way
mattress dungeon: the book
hello to all who have been following this blog. i’m sorry i have been very quiet lately. as someone who is inspired by chaos and intensity, staying mostly isolated, keeping my head down, and working a day job has not been great for ye olde art spirit. however, last month i had covid for the second time and fell into the sort of shitty dark place that requires a project just to hope for something.
the book mattress dungeon does not contain any new poems — sorry to disappoint — but it does have a selection of some of my personal favorites from this blog, and there’s a pretty cute picture of me on the back, and it is digest-sized so you can easily slip it into a purse. the internal design and cover are both lovely, i am thrilled with how it came out, and i hope that you will be, as well.
you can buy a copy of mattress dungeon at the following online retailers. leaving a review is the kindest thing you can do for an indie artist.
Lulu
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
if you are interested in purchasing a signed copy, you can email me at musical chairs, gmail.
thank you all for your support.
covid portrait, thanksgiving 2021
up late and slept in, hurt deep to the bones
the sharp grey light spills in through cold windows
we started drinking around 11
watching the soviet chess narratives
that have always brought comfort
the dog is grumpy
she wants to sniff around the neighborhood
i am too tired to walk her today
the recipe is: cubed stale bread
onions and celery sweated
in butter with poultry seasoning
three beaten eggs
325 until golden brown
i imagine my mom’s kitchen
smells exactly like mine right now
it eases the distance, just a little
and you’re mashing potatoes
stirring canned soup into canned green beans
last night i got lonely enough
to crawl under your weighted blanket
this might be the last thanksgiving dinner
we ever cook together
sometimes i wonder why i make these choices
i have two bottles of red wine on deck
maybe next year it’ll be you i miss
instead of my brothers and sisters
maybe it’ll be you sending me photos
of the snacks you’re eating while you cook
two cocktails on the counter
and i’ll wonder who’s there
maybe in a way this is a blessing
still and all
right now i want my family
the way i always do
when i’m sick and sad and sore
i keep hoping next year will be better
in spite of all evidence to the contrary
in my dreams i see you love so many things
jealous of the anonymous voice
on the other side of the telephone
of the sweet smooth wood singing
taut strings under deft fingers
of some bleak city still unmet
the one that holds new dreams
jealous of the ink and paper
mainlined and held close
of the teeth flashed smiling
and the soft swish of hair
of the passwords learned
the ones to guide new steps
jealous of the past
the sticky heat and burning cold
smeared with frosting
and devoured by rats
of knowing how to sing and move
of staying up and sleeping in
of some former life
one in which even doubt and fear
felt like petty distractions
the thickest wall in the world
the easiest way to put it is
everything sucks and i want to die
but who wants the easy way
i can’t stay angry. can’t even be hurt
the reasons are what they are what they should be
congratulations on having a goal
but no: can’t even be spiteful
see there’s so much love here, still, now
and you’re so stupid nice to me
that the only change is the Where of it
i died for so long that the final blow
brought me back to life
where where where to put it all
what do you do
with a life even you don’t want
remind me tomorrow
lover today is the day of remembrance
& i hear your name spoken loudly
a raw wound still crying for your voice
to speak meaning into the bleak
oh i understand the hurt & loss
but the salt is sweeter on my lips
in the eternal month when you were mine
you promised death has a purpose
& begged me: say it back
i am thirty-four years old & i am alive
ghosts become inchoate
the harder you stare into them
i almost didn’t make it
but here i am
we haven’t spoken
it would be nice to hear from you
before the letdown
physically it’s something
like those tiny tied up plastic bags
chunky white powder
colorful paper
featherlight dried fungus
wiping sweat to palm them
the quickness in my step
blood sizzling alert and fearful
it’s gotten expensive
as a kid my teeth would grind
on the way to the movies
at the foot of a baby coaster
nobody tells you this
feeling is in short supply
if you find a dealer
buy as much as you can
to anyone interested
my feet look like they’re carved
from marble the veins
outstanding long slender
toes smooth unencumbered
free of heavy boots wool socks
blandly pretty nothing special maybe
i could get around some other way
if i pass my driver’s test in july
it’s been so hard though i swear
working feels like dying some days
and we both slept better before all the deaths
but he shakes in his sleep
these gasping jolts and jerks
i pull away i roll over i hug a pillow
it’s nothing sane or fair
but lord i miss the peace of dreaming
while touching
this digital rain washes nothing clean
and under all of it the anger
you’ve heard it all before so
i will spare you, mostly, and say
the joy has fled like everything i loved
was a drug that’s lost its buzz
chasing maintenance doses of happiness
this dragon burns pitifully under my tongue
the words in my head have been caged
and grown claws to scratch and throats to cry
good morning they say will you spend some time
with us today oh we so long to escape
and find another to caress to lick to kiss
i mumble an apology into my coffee cup
it’s not a good time i say
never a good time, never anymore
i hurt from crown to arch
so anyway
it’ll be fifty bucks for a couple photos
mattress dungeon 