we are four

i have a brother
with thick brown hair & scared eyes
he inhabits my body
because he completes me
i have another brother
he lives and breathes
with the grace of god in his eyes
because he is an Artist
i have a sister
with eyes that seethe green

rebellious in her spirituality
because she is misguided

we are four
we even the score
bonded by
the same whore

swinging there

A. came and he is late. he is coming to get his things, there he goes again, coming and going. maybe i kicked him out or he is living somewhere else, but he has to go now. i look down at him over the bannister of the white staircase. he gives me a big Fake smile so i know he is there. he is angry underneath the skin, but he whistles and sings to himself as he gathers his things. he reminds me of T., the gap between the two front teeth. sometimes i am afraid he wants to kill me. C. and i rifle through a bag of his things, full of women's makeup and some pills. i try waiting for him in the small room but we keep coming in and out. then we are swinging there, high above the trees, facing one another.

late in season

you enter me again
and my dreams open drawers with forgotten treasures
here there is a switchblade and some lingerie
and tiny satin pillows for kittens to lay their heads and play
you are wet like mud for my empathy
and as the crust forms my skin softens like cheap perfume
it must be comforting to penetrate the gaze of someone without boundaries
like a general who gallops arrogantly into a nation's grief
i am holding the unopened jar of your unfolding
because i know your void is an earth of serpents hunting -

it is like me to lick the whip of your cream from a cold spoon
as laying in the folds of my bed conjures a serene cloud
bursting, ripe and leaking
like a persimmon swelling
late in season

preferences

what happens when
you prefer the smell
of your own skin?