I. WHAT I MEANT TO SAY
is that I was mistaken in not taking the time
to forget you completely or fuck you to sleep;
I’ve been meaning to kill your father
but I lost my gun and money is tight;
the blood in my vomit is black—black blood
comes from the stomach— it’s the color of love;
I thought of your body the other day.
I was lying in a field. I was shooting at doves.
II. “JUST FUCK ME, IT’S FINE”
(BEFORE THE FUNERAL)
she told me her
father was dying
and her mother
had found a new
boyfriend in town.
she said my
lovers were just
like her lovers
strength always
in numbers—she
finds me in bed.
she said: shut up
and I’ll cry til
you’re hard yes
the body is dirt
but our fingers
are spades.
III. TOUCHING MYSELF
this clock ticks an alien time
my hands dance in sweat;
its been days since I smoked
friend said shit man just think about
porn, all that flesh rubbing flesh
and then your flesh on yours
saw a man today covered in blood—
a street-corner god
(one bored cop keeping vigil)
so I drank til my name went away
no sense to excess
said one dumbstruck survivor
IV. THE BED WE SHARED
is still
wet
with bouts of palms
and bloody compassion;
it’s ok,
Jane used to say.
I don’t mind the snoring.
I don’t mind the sweat.
Shhh,
she told my closed eyes.
And blew them open.
Said: taste me
and be proud.