goddamn philosophy
sometimes i wonder
what it would be
like
to live in a body
without scars.
i see them all the time
on boards and glowing
screens, on pages
and in songs, those
women
made
of unmarked pages.
when the pen digs in
laying ink down
and buzzing against
the bone
it leaves a word.
but they
the virgin pages
are silent eggs, blank and
white.
i’d
rather
be
criss
crossed
at least, once it heals
up.
the bulb burned out
right in the middle of
a sentence.
i was still talking, lady.
it wasn’t fair.
i bought replacements
a long time ago.
so i rescued them from the
hall closet and
screwed one in, snapped
you back over your
modern-day candle.
my smoke was still smoking
my glass was half full
i plugged you in and
pop!
a bad bulb.
could’ve taken it for a sign
but then
i never know when to quit
it’s why they all
give up on me.
i shuffled
down the hall
with the fumes
in my head
burped some acid
alcohol
and got three more bulbs.
ripped the plastic open
and screwed another one in
bit my lip so hard
i tasted iron.
plugged you in
and held my breath
and you lit up
like you’d never left.
my lady, our lady
if i can get another bulb
and another,
how about you
throw me a bone?
but every time
i take another drink
my lip, it stings
and i watch your smile.
as usual
you keep your mouth
shut.
i sit on my balcony
aching feet up at last.
this is the moment
because i can sit
watch the old couple
with their hibachi
and their silence, everything
already said;
watch the boys in loose groups,
showing off for
girls with teased hair;
watch the breeze touch
greenery and smell
other people’s
dinners. i can see
the cars slide in
and out. each one
a story, each neighbor
a complex little world.
all the dinner i need
is here
on the balcony
with the amber liquid
in the jd bottle
and the smoke from
a pall mall.
i worked overtime
for this. the sun’s
ship has sunk
and the light
for almost an hour
is magic.
for that hour
nobody bores me.
yeah, it’s worth
paying the rent
on this crappy
little place.
i take another drink
take another drag
and wait for dark.
the shouldn’t call it getting old.
they should call it:
learning to speak
either less or more.
learning to trust
the right people.
learning beauty isn’t
in a magazine.
developing faith
in your capability.
figuring out where
your energy should go.
no, they shouldn’t
call it “getting old”.
they should call it
surviving the jungle
of youth.
panting
wide-eyed
red in tooth
and claw
i’m getting there.
dear virgin,
let’s talk.
you’re a bulb and
a plastic shield. how
do you smile even
when you’re unplugged?
i want to go
to church.
but
god, that bastard
will hit me
if i cross
the threshold.
besides
they don’t open churches
at one a.m. here
in the cold.
so i stay at home
light another smoke
take another swallow
the whiskey burns
its way down.
and i talk to you.
they say you hear
all the cries
of the world.
they say you are
mercy itself.
so tell me
why can’t you be
the one in charge?
the last thing
we need
between stars exploding
with nuclear force
and everything eating
everything else
down here
is more violence.
was there
a corporate takeover?
do you look at the
direction he’s taken
the company in
and cringe
while you listen to our
screaming?
senora, my lady, virgin, please
please
find some balls
and fix some things
down here.
i’ll stay here
all night
with the bottle
and the ashtray
and the haze
in the air
if it will make you
do it.
the rain talks, a
mouthing mumble,
hard on the gutters
rushing water.
senora, you and i
we’re going to have
to come to an agreement.
i need a little mercy
not just a benign
smile.
the smile’s cheap
you just paste it on
and get through the
day.
right now
every shred
of good
i’m getting
comes from
jack daniels.
nuestra senora,
if you want
to give him
a run for his
money, you
better start
steppin up.
dear virgin,
you’re still
smiling. still
calm, and
blue-robed
and still
immaculata.
you’re
still
a nightlight.
i am still unable
to sleep
even though
my eyes are deserts
and my back, well,
and then there’s
my heart.
work was
work, screaming
kids and
jumpy mothers
and men
yeah, men
who piss on the sides
of toilet seats.
but i’m home.
four walls,
and you. i
tried to eat
but it was too dark
and then you
were the only thing
holding back
black curtains.
every time i
light another
smoke the shadows jump.
they have
shinydark teeth.
at least you’re
keeping the
werewolves out.
for five ninety nine
and a replacement bulb
that’s pretty good.
you’re not talking tonight.
it’s okay.
i’ve got enough to say
for both of us.
oh nuestra senora
my lady
please
just keep listening.
dear virgin,
let’s talk.
we have it kind
of rough
down here.
we just can’t seem
to stop hurting
ourselves
and everyone
and everything else.
i’d ask your intercession
but look how well that turned
out the first time.
i’d ask you to explain,
but that language
barrier, it’s pretty
high, and your bossdaddy
has this thing about
vengeance for questions.
so there’s nothing, really
except sometimes
i look at the nightlight
your painted face
those blue robes
your calm smile
and i want to smash you
and i want you to hold me
all at once.
i don’t know how
you could help.
maybe i’m better off
just lighting another smoke
and talking to
a goddamn nightlight
while i wait for
dawn.
funny to think
you can heal all at once
like the scab ripped away
pink and shiny
underneath
instead of raw.
funny to think a heart
can mend, between
one cigarette and
the next.
funny to think
something so huge
that destroyed you
can be past
like a killer wave
draining away
there’s wreckage,
yeah, but i’m
still breathing.
funny to think
i’m not just breathing
i’m actually…
am i?
happy.
i’m not laughing
but it’s funny
in that life-sucks
kind of way.
where you wake up
one morning,
drinking isn’t fun
anymore and the rest
of the world
is still rolling.
when you stretch
and see the sun
and realize you
can make it.
not just make it
but you can live.
yeah.
funny.
yeah.
i burn
because
i was made for it.
i was built
to burn. the
spark has
been struck,
the tinder
breathed delicately
upon, the sticks
caressed
with an orange
fingernail tendril.
i burn because
i am tied to a
raft, spinning
in the night,
an infinity of
black water.
at least
while my flesh melts
i can see the reflection
in the water-mirror
and maybe
catch a glimpse
of what my
face looked like
before you.
