Bodies!
Have you ever seen so many bodies?
Bodies here, bodies there, bodies broken under my feet.
Bodies dismantled, bodies lost, bodies forgotten, bodies beyond recognition.
I am burying them one-by-one. I am burying. I am burying my feelings. I know they are under here somewhere, but I’m numb. I’m numb and I’m tired and I am alone. Inaccessible. The maintenance guy even had to come by this week and I was thrilled to see him. This time he was fixing a leak in my shower.
Such waste I created for an entire week! A leaky shower head I tried using packing tape to fix.
Such waste - my body so young and supple with no man to devour it.
Such waste! Our energy, our time, our brains, our focus, our lives, our moments, such waste!
I lay within the space of two walls, flush to the floor, open to the world. My skirt slithers off my body, disappearing into the earth. My hands between the space of two legs. Who yells my name? Who waits for me here? A gasp is held within the space of two hands. And hides back inside of me.
What are you looking at? This isn’t a place for you! No one invited you here! The sign says “do not disturb” and you think you can just walk right through it? I was flicking the bean, having a wank, jacking off, would you like me to continue? How about you give it a go!
Sprinkling the bleach along the dirt and bones, a butterfly emerges amongst the rubble. White as bone it flutters and reveals emerald flecks, rising up with the living in this world. Creme, ivory, chestnut, charcoal, terracotta, espresso, ash, beige. Colors to run from.
Read and sung, read and sung! I’m tired of reading and too tired to sung. Where do you go? Dead among men. Do you stay with the living? Or do you find your own home? Did you get my message? It doesn’t seem you have. A shame, it is, dead among men. I heard your pulse and saw you breath, but you claim you aren’t living, dead among men. I’ll have to give up, I’ll throw out the white flag, you are somehow still hurting me, dead among men. I am not feeling like myself. I am not feeling. I am feeling dragged down, drug out, knocked over, skipped over, forgotten, I’ve forgotten myself. I’m lost. I am not proud. You’re smiling at me but I don’t know what for. I know I look this way, but what’s inside? What’s under the skin? I peel it away and I see the tar. It smells and it’s sticky and it won’t come off like a white honda civic. How did that get inside? I don’t remember it being there. I crawl back into the Big Sur Marathon and pull the covers over my head.
—-
When is it my turn?
When do I get to fly?
When do I get to tell my story?
When do I get to be happy?
When do I get to the top?
When do I get to the end?
When do I get to time?
When do I get to the moment?
A sore throat.
The smell of water on the concrete.
A butterfly flying by and disappearing.
The sound of waves.
A stubbed toe.
The taste of salt.
A kiss unexpected.
The sound of pugs snoring in contentment.
A hand grazed.
The flipping of pages of a book.
A drop of rain hitting my nose.
The feeling of soil in my hands.
A terrible dream.
The sound of sirens.
A phone call going to voicemail.
The memories of my youth.
I don’t remember those days.
I don’t remember my mother.
I don’t remember when things were normal.
I don’t remember high school.
I don’t remember middle school.
I don’t remember elementary school.
I don’t remember feeling young.
I don’t remember what you said.
I don’t remember you.
I don’t remember my first blow job.
I don’t remember my first orgasm.
Was it in the tub or with the barbies in the jacuzzi?
Underneath the blanket, underneath the dining room table in the living room. Whispers and laughter.
Underneath you.
Underneath the water.
Underneath the pepper trees of my youth.
Underneath my hat, I can’t see you.
Underneath my laughter, it’s not really funny.
Underneath the bruise, tough skin.
Underneath the sweater, cold.
Underneath the guise of friendship, you are unkind.
Trembling, chest puffed, arms out.
Underneath my underwear I am actually wet.
Underneath my hand covering my mouth I am saying stop and I mean it.
Things I want to remember and things I want to forget.
I seem to remember the things I want to forget and forget the things I want to remember.
Where are you, mother?
Where are you, father?
Where are you, brother?
Where are you, sister?
Where are you, friend?
Where are you, foe?
Where are you, home?
Where are you, anyone?
When is it my turn?
When do I get to fly?
When do I get to belong?
When do I get to control?
When do I get to lay under the pepper trees of my youth and laugh and whisper and yell and scream and rejoice and sing and cry and moan and touch and feel and write and read and run and falter and roll and drink and eat and kiss and lick and sun and rain and moon and snow and wind and remember and forget?
When is it my turn?
—-
The first cut
I wish I could take
Swaying in the hammock
In the rouge and violet of my mother’s arms
I want to go with
You up in the air
I’ll burn, let’s burn
Crimson to grey
The linen, the cream
The bodies that envelop me
Welcoming is the morning light
Hateful is the day
Your hair tickles my arm
The moonlight penetrates your skin
I open my eyes
Burning
Why is it so loud?
The water so dark
My feet cannot break down these rocks
Static
I put my tongue to the earth
Salt and soil and blood
I touch the screen
Warmth
Electricity
I jump into the abyss
Wonder ceases
An opal sits in the sand
It’s glow, so bright
Don’t look
I said I was ready
Here you have my life