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Submitted on
November 9, 2012
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if i document that which tandem existed

(it only ever was when i willed it to be)

does it fulfill my end of Shylock's bargain

with neither pint nor pinprick to go to waste?

flicker

mistress of the sleight of hand,

she seeks a remnant to manipulate.

if she wanted, she could take my cataclysms

(gloss over my scrapes with paint opaque)

and make with them something gratifying, satisfying

something else electrifying

marigolds with severed xylems sent in cases to the dying-

if she wanted.

her decision twirls until the lights

flicker

she's vacancy and i'm uninviting-

we talk about ugly things.

birthmarks and the uncensored human condition,

the scar on my upper lip and spines of dead foxes.

i tell her those are the reason i write.

she laughs her disdain

and kisses a bruise on my shoulder,

a perfect mimicry of her begonias.

she pauses to caution me

that aging is heinous and angels can fly

but then the stage is set and her eyelashes

flicker

i was to beset her- what's the use?

she was nothing but a

flicker

i only regret to lose the

lurid slither of bone on bone

i seek a replacement to manipulate

as moonset sends me, its disciple, a salutatory

flicker

pour me another shot of moonshine.

when you wax vivacious and syphilitic

and the crysanthemum's wilted, i'll come.
i've loved and lost.

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