Dichotomous Dame

dichotomous dame can’t remember her name
gone blank in the face
gone cold in the veins

blindly given
driven
by glorious riches and sunbathed delight
burnt out trenches and gut rot nights
deceitful liaisons in basements and alleys
along with lavish cruises in the three gorge valley

take me, just take me, take me as only flesh
there’s nothing more, nothing less
take me, take me, down to the floor
draw a map of me, find a door
tell me where the land meets the sea
where the mountain becomes sky
where one lives and the other dies

dichotomous dame’s forgotten her name
gone blank in the face
gone cold in the veins


Water Filter

I got a glass of water out of the tap -
and I was thirsty for it,
really thirsty for it.

But something caught my eye, stopped me
cold in my tracks.
It was dirty yellow
and there were black flecks swimming around.

I took it to the light - god knows this wasn’t the first time
I’d seen the color,
but I couldn’t help have a small twinge
of hopefulness.
Perhaps it was just a reflection or my anxious
imagination.

But of course upon closer inspection, I saw it clear as day -
it was everything I wished it was not.

I saw the swirling particles dancing around like
a nice little galaxy
or a tasty plankton dinner.

Yep, it was yellow again, damn sure of it.
A yellow glass of water in a $1.50 Beefeater glass -
fucked up.

I shook my head,
I thought about the estrogen,
all the fucking estrogen They say is in the water.

Apparently it’s from the birth control all the girls around here take.
Which means of course that their pee
is somehow making its way into my cool and not so refreshing beverage.

They say Los Angeles’ water is full of Percodan -
which sounds a hell of a lot more fun and relaxing than another goddamn hormone.

I thought about my periods -
how they were all fucked up from too much estrogen,
how I thought I was pregnant for 10 days out of the month
because I was always late and swelling up like fat
cinnamon roll in the oven.

"Yeah, it’s the estrogen in the water,"
I was told by the girl down at the herb shop.

She said I should buy a $500 water filter.
$500 fucking dollars just to keep my hormones running right.

So this yellow water,
this yellow water in my $1.50 Beefeater glass stared back at me
in a real condescending,
shit grinning, self possessed, son of a bitch sort of way -
it was saying,
“You’re an idiot.
Get your shit together lady.
$500 bucks isn’t very much cash. Not too much
to keep you from being a PMSing,
life loathing, cigarette smoking, evil, seething, dark demon bitch
for twice as long each month - too much estrogen.
You need to get a life girl, a big attitude change
and buy a mother fucking water filter. And while you’re at it,
never drink anything out of plastic again,
you’re too damned crazy for any more hormones!”

No joke,
this is what this yellow water was saying to me -
I thought I was just thirsty.

I couldn’t help but retort -
I couldn’t help interject that, “The world
was a far too over crowded,
grimy, starving, seething, self-mutilating, self-destructing,
self-righteous, caged, gnawing, scrambling, imprisoned mess of a place.
A real C- on God’s part.
Nothing was pure anymore,
nothing was straight from the source.
Sure there were the flowers and the vistas and the alpine springs,
but everything was melting,
everything was breaking down.
The machine was faltering under our weight and would soon
rise up
to crush us and devour us like the center of a big black hole.

And I was going down with it -
maybe not under a Tsunami, but most certainly
at the hand of Mother Nature.

In one way or another she was going to take me down, even if I jumped -
even if I did it to myself.

I could just write a farewell note saying the estrogen
in my yellow water
had transformed me straight into a
stark raving lunatic
that was diving head first into the oblivion.

I would say
that over-population had inevitably driven my water to kill me - pure madness.

Water filter, fuck.
Cows lactating year after year with blisters in their utters - shot up like juiced linebackers -
harvesting more hormones for our pleasure.

This yellow water was really giving
me a hell of a time
and now the thought of drinking milk with estrogen in it
was thrown into the equation.

Words like
organic and hybrid and reduce
were flashing through my head - real annoying shit.

I belonged in the 19th century. I belonged in a time when people
believed that opium was good for a kids common cold
and resources were endless.

But here I sat in the twenty-first century
wondering what the estrogen was doing to my husband -
wondering if he too would find himself with
a pair of breasts and a really bad attitude.


Sometimes it’s Just This

He came over last week
and we drank all day,
deciding not to have options.

We laid on the beanbag
talking about ripening wounds
and the addiction to nightmares.

Mountains were somewhere outside,
freedom somewhere else,
so we pulled on our hair and each other.

The box was a house,
we stared at the roof,
picking up privilege in the bottle.


Hangin’ with Lunacy

I’m thinking of going insane today -
like using only half of every word,
like voting republican
or acting like my grandfather
and my grandmother, shouting, “don’t go in there!”

I know nothing’s in there except a toilet,
but they sit pointing and screaming so hard the bed shakes.
And I think it looks nice to go insane today.

I’d like to walk circles around dead cats,
to stumble sober over the tops of cars,
to wildly roar verse at
children for messy ice-cream faces,
or ask them what exactly ejaculation means.

I think going insane today sounds perfect -
like claiming to be Bill Clinton or Louisa May Alcott,
to yell racial slurs at other white girls,
to miss myself,
or casually count my white blood cells
to see if it’s safe to smoke this next cigarette.

I think I’ll scrub my skin clean of all these freckles.
I’ll swallow pennies until I can belly dance to a jingle.

Going insane today will be easy,
I’ll just continue sitting here with my grandparents
‘til I’m good and crazy -
‘till I’m the one screaming so hard the bed shakes.


Black and Blue

The ceremony has become the nightmare,
the nightmare, the ceremony.
I awaken out of thunder like a lightning bolt,
shooting straight through my own roots,
catching my limbs on fire,
ablaze in the bleak of a German, January night.
I sit straight up and see your eyes - they’re not next to me,
but all I can see.
There’s never been anything bluer I’ve found -
not even in the Caribbean.
It was the first thing we saw in each other, color.
So vivid, the differences striking.
Everyone commented on both - uniqueness.
It’s the part of the ceremony that hurts the most,
seeing something vibrant in the jet-black
of what’s suppose to be
the opaque time;
the time when you give way to Nyx and the beauty
of his nothingness,
everything in silence.
You beg
for the quick emptiness and relief that death might bring.
Death never comes - just those eyes.
They come when you least expect them,
right when you’re not looking for them.
The pain is worse than you thought even by day.
The absence of dark is full of memory, the ceremony
of a black nightmare in bright blue.


Escape

The pain is in the well
It’s flooding the yard, and beginning to permeate others
The neighbors think they’ve hit a luscious spring
An oasis
It gives so very much
The pain wants to be let out of the depths and flood the green grasses
That reach up to meet the light
So it spreads a cool, welcoming pleasure
Neighbors don’t know it’s pain their roses are being watered with
They think the giving is a gift
The giving is not a gift
It’s a merely an overflow
There’s no where for it to go but up and out and next door
The roses love it
They feel the need and consume it with a hungered thirst
When there’s too much of something, it feeds something else
This rule was made - once upon a time
In the balancing of all things sad and beautiful


An Odious Egress

A pain so great, worthy of a ceremony.
A betrayal so huge, worthy of a hanging.
A tragedy so ghastly, worthy of insanity.
A wail so loud, worthy of blanching.

Every soul I touched, I bludgeoned into crimson.
I bled them with medieval madness,
Collected scarlet tears in bowls,
Filled up coffers until I had enough to drown in.

But I would never die!
Never had enough to die!

Morning just kept up its hat trick again - and again
And bloody fucking again.
The Northern winter cannot come too soon.
I am your slave.
Hide me away in that black, cold cave like you love to do.
Maybe then they won’t see me and want to touch me.
Maybe then they’ll forget about the purgatory of my Wandering eyes.


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