Thursday, December 17, 2009

Has a hard Time Making Friends

I'm checking my pulse at every stoplight
I am unsure who to be without you around
to create me, mold me into your carbon copy
lay flat on top of you, push me through
the xerox machine, make me perfect black
edges, make me speak like you do
hopeful and tragic and a little bit rude

I can't take the stare, eyes meet
I'm weak, I want to say, the fangs
are removable- most times--
my smile is delicate tracing paper--falls out &
crackles like burnt scraps

I'm not sure if you'd be okay with all of this--
all of the wanting, the fervent longing,
myt mouth wide open for you to slide
words into
Stare at me again, pose me,
a threat so I can react
adrenaline pulse through the crook of my neck,
a vein, purple bruise of the year

In former days I was less afraid
or perhaps I wore a loud mask
and put it over my face
so I could shout at you

I do all of my own stuntwork
I panic on airplanes and pull down my oxygen mask
Kerosine heart, I will
jet start to your center
I will plow through rubble to find you
sleeping next to me, still perfectly warm.