two

morning lines #151
Nothing’s pretty on me anymore ’cept my toes,
their dumb-numb piano-hammer music of
forgiving—a pardon to my face, which walked away
years ago in a huff. I could’ve argued and pleaded
like an alarmed lover. Instead, I let it slip away,
my unconvincing grip going slack. My toes, doing
tenfold the duty, erased, as if stamping out,
all memory of that hand-some face.
 
morning lines #150
She wanted to live a life with the animals,
all soft fur against slippery skin,
inhuman haunch meeting rosewater thigh
 
A silent silver knowing,
like silk entering the veins
 
Playful mornings after food,
on the damp woolen ground,
endless afternoons of rolling, weeping,
and licking wounds
 
She wanted to die with the animals,
but only if they were ready to go