La Plata
A calcium-white moon
twinkled like a parasite in our blood,
like a swallowed needle,
infinite rivers leading to one
ravenous and blinking core.
I wanted so many things.
More than a mouth of broken teeth
could possibly ask for.
One merchant after the other
sold colored pencils and plastic
combs to tired women with
swollen bones. A landscape made
entirely of wrong notes.
You offered the thief a swig of whiskey
instead of pulling me away
when he reached for my pocket.
We let our legs dangle off
the train, penetrate
the glistening dark,
stars flickering like cello
tongues. The night smelled crisp.
Happy. We were happy
pulled up against the spicy
cunt of the world, offered
in one brief, delicious flash.
Prayer in Lingerie
I want nothing from you but your voice, now,
inhabiting the corners of my room, filling
my sheets with sweat and lilac-spume.
I stay awake listening to bullet-hard
insects and their flimsy night-gown wings
suiciding on my window.
Make sweet of their rot-flavored buzzing.
Make my nipples alcoholic and swivel
to the bottom of this martini glass-shaped
ache, dirty and lit from within.
Prayer in Red
Today I hovered around a single baby
seal's corpse, split-stomached on the beach.
I witnessed the infinite chewing
of the earth taking it back, leaving
only a dark slick behind. Most days
I don't need you to tell me who I am.
Let me stay where I belong, somewhere between
the glass jar in the back of the refridgerator,
one marachino cherry left,
and your mouth, gleaming and sugared
with thirst.
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