The Only Hands I Want To Know

hold on, for dear
life, hold on,

holds on, tight
grip, white knuckles,
ripping my flimsy body
from the sea.

We are ballet together.
Strict, and flexible.
The tragedy of the sea
drips from my fingertips;
he twirls death out of me.

For years, I drifted on dead logs,
raging against a hateful water,
dipping my hands in to remember

the violent debris, floating barely
above surface.
He disagrees.

He only saw a body dance perfectly
ill-tempered, diving into
the boiling veins of the world.
His hands reached in,
not to pull me from death,
not to release me from dangerous
waves that swallowed me in
then spit me back out,
but to dance
a perfect dance
on dry desert land.

Everything To Forget

Oh! Hands of agony.
Twisting life out of my inside’s.
While guilt gnaws on my heart,
my womb attacks itself.

An invasion!

Under the liquor, I know.
Stamped by a man’s life,
cut myself through the throat.

My own words, slicing
my flesh. Over and over
and over
again.

I despise June for all that it takes.
Keep it!
Keep it, I say!
I will keep words to myself.
Time will take sight,
sound,
hopefully, mind. And I can forget.
I can forget.

She Snaps Like A

She snaps like a
twig from a
dead oak tree
She snaps
her fingers,
one,
two,

THREE!!!!!!

Standstill! Who will
draw first

Three sisters, count them.
One.
Two.
Three.

Huddled in her meat cleaver,
she leaves them.
Dead meat.

Red, raw
meat for the taking.
Marinated to
manipulated savory.

Three girls with
guilt blonde hair. Three
scared
little witches, fixing burns,
breaking dishes.

That’s what happens when the
flip switches,
she twitches into
rags –
stomping floorboards,
dropping little blonde
hair into body
bags

feeds dirty lies
from her
mothering, smothering hands.

Fire Juice

My mouth broils as he Ogre’s around
our apartment. Things,
things,
little things,
severely minuscule things
are everywhere,
out of place,
unclean.

His small feet stomp inflammation
into our feeble floors.
His small hands run away from
his body
to find me,
to strangle me!

I watch from underneath
couch cushions, where crumbs of
yesterday lay sullen until
they are found out later
and
sucked away by his mean vacuum cleaner.

He calls,
he calls me out…

angry laughter speeds from his
black callousness to
my eardrums. I hear them explode.

He stomps with plague.
He stomps to me. Ripping me from
haven, his touch ignites my mouth
filled with fire juice

and
all I can do is spit!