She

She’s miss….
Loves dirt for diamonds
Gargles spiders
Stops time then steels lipstick
Tonight she’ll light one hundred cannons off one cigarette
She’s fast like snapping gun guys, cold like cellars bare foot
And the only poem she knows is the club down the street…

Then: the kind of woman you could love walks in:

She circles her
Beauty marks with the wet end
Of a blue pen
Staring softly through the high school play props and postcard parts of grown men
She knows we jerk off to the daughters of the world
She’s all that’s beautiful and opposite sad music
Running through fields
In soft focus towards each other

And yet you
You boy you
You were so difficult so black hole in a china shop

Now: She climbs the girth
Of one small stone step somewhere
Screaming vaginal sabotage in the sun
To the purse of loosely pinched flesh
Between the pit formed by her upper arm chest and top adjoining

There, you were…
You were boy with all the walls
And so she took her sugar elsewhere
Whilst you shuffle with enlightment to date…

She left you for the undertaker and his sensitive side,
who'd say, "Baby morgues are people too, and I.. and I.. and I.. and I, after all, dear, I love you."

And he’s so heavy…

When you open your mouth
She removes her gloves
And the sea pours mighty
From her hollowed sleeves
Until everything that’s solved in
Life now begins to float around your socked and soaking ankles

Locks of semen
Tiny spears of beard
Clumps of baby teeth and even
A few cut feet of umbilical ribbon
Until you shut your eyes to
Draw the gloves back on her
Gushing and half finished wrists…

She brings the deluge
You bring nothing but a rafts rope between your teeth
And some poem about yourself

He’s so heavy…