Where
Two
Worlds
Touch
Brother,
When this is all over
I'll hug you forever
and never let go
Sister,
This
will never be over
It is always Tuesday now
always February dawning white
through a high paltry window
The door is wide open–
snow blizzards in
glittering hundreds
of handwritten drafts
on an atrophied floor
Beneath a dreamcatcher:
coats and court suits
splay empty and flat
empty and flat
on a sheet-less mattress
The heat is off
The hot water faucet
drips
drips intravenous thaw
through clogs of shattered
ceramic
shards
your hands exact
as gifts
as analgesic–
you slit
you gouge
you hollow out
your tortuous organs
But they keep growing back: keep
lapping up life like fleshy tongues
of big thirsty dogs–
perfecting their small
quotidian deaths
with each resurrection
No, there is no
emergency
No need for sirens
or other affects–
She left nothing
up to chance
She left kicking
and swinging
She left shaking-off
the devil
You could say
She left dancing
She left a mural message in red:
I'm happy now please smile
She left a mural message in red:
I'm happy now please smile
You breathe diamond dust
of avalanched veins
hang heavy head
I want to live
is not the same as:
I don’t want to die
He dreams
he's at the mouth
of a river
knee-deep in mud
The fish are all belly-up
Verbatim:
Already gone–
already stiff when I sawed
the pants attaching her neck
to the closet rod with my buck knife
She exhaled
and for a split second I thought
Just in time!
For fucksake–
911 had me giving her
mouth-to-mouth
That's when I smelled it:
her death
That's when I saw it:
her stuck amber eyes
staring off into the distance
the tight violet knots of her fists
Her hair was wet
like she had just showered
just showered and dressed–
like she was going somewhere
She had her green shoes on
Conditions (self-imposed) for attending what they are calling a Gathering for Celebration of Life (in lieu of the funeral you wanted):
I can go
with violet lips, violet fists, dressed in rope
I can go
mount a table of dainty food and slit my throat
I can go
gun loaded, father–>mother–>self in the head
I can go
drink cyanide and dance to Good News til I'm dead
In the end that's all she imagined:
the solace in non-being
No longer needing the pleasure
of seeing again
the pasque flower's downy blue
pushing up through the snow
the meadowglow of the delicate
nodding heads of glacier lilies
the resurrection of bitterroot
Again the magenta
shooting star
the mourning cloak
butterfly
the whitewater gush
through Alberton Gorge
The invisible line
through Big Dipper
to dim Polaris
Disappearing...
the way she once believed
that when she closed her eyes
she ceased seeing
ceased being
seen
Fear demon
loose in the mind
Fear demon finds
where you hide
your guilt-riddled
psyche, cries
Had you only—
If you hadn't—
If only you had—
Had you only—
If you hadn't—
If only you had—
There is a public notice
of permanent cessation
with your picture on it
You're wearing green
Your hair is up
A pair of years now
Put them on like gloves
The moon was a delicate crescent
that morning you opted for death…
"an act prepared within the silence of the heart
as is a great work of art"
This morning the moon wanes
at thirty-one percent: the age
you would have been
This morning we temporarily tattoo
ourselves with butterflies and feathers
We hike through snow for a view
We drop daffodils
in the mouth of the river
follow their drowning
golden heads to the sea
To keep you
To keep you
from dying again
