“THE STARS LOOK BEAUTIFUL TONIGHT,” SUNG MY MATTRESS TO THE CEILING
Beneath the moon, beneath Barbara’s stern love
the fog is coming back. It cries
I’m not a bird
footnote in mid-air
which is to say I loathe you, and I don’t think I can stop –
you like running your nails over the skin of your face?
stripping the sludge from your pores?
scratch the surface of your skeleton, it’s still not deep enough.
Why on earth would you bother with me? I’m not an organ donor
I’m just incoherent with anti-lust,
black hole in my chest –
Prometheus – eat your heart out –
or however that story goes.
blink fast to cut the images –
I can’t get off this beach
and I know I let you do this to me
but I fucking hate you for it.
Woke up with
blood you in my mouth again –
can’t you just leave me alone?