VELVET
Because I’ve doused my wrists in Exit the King & bring them
supplicationwise to my face loopingly as if I could closer.
Because sheepsy wolvesy Beethoven’s playing on Pandora.
Because I’m performing an exorcism on the closet & what
was within lays bare over bed & chaise stitched with dog
hair. Coleworts twice sodden. Cockleshells all in a row. Art
is very instinctive (declares Rosten-Edwards). In the ’90s I
wore you feline suited. Neon-wigged in cognito, didn’t I think
myself queenly pussyfooting into those guillotine nights?
Inspiration drawn from Peg Bundy & Hades. It’s not just
the dust bunnies among the skeletons I’m after. Damnit I
cried last night watching Queer Eye. Because Stocking Lady
& damnit wacky fashion sense & damnit overdressed &
underclothed. Because in a fantasy I’m as reflective as an idea
eeling behind the eyes especially crushed—coruscated &
Zorcoian as March rain. Navigating dusk I turn on mid-
lights. Soft get-you-bys. I was intent you’d be skirt split to
saddlebag, tube-top over-floweth. A text or two later—your
Shane’s second piss catheter. Him constipated from Chemo
meds. You can’t go back & it’s a blessing as much as a curse.
Scarf cloaking shoulder like the folded-upon-folded-upon-
selves cabbage (cut in-half) now are: labyrinthine. I am
adorned. I wear you. But you—you wear me out
ABOUT THE POET
ABOUT SUGAR HOUSE REVIEW
No comments:
Post a Comment