2 PoemsRiff or Rift
The day my mouth burst into flames I understood careful usage. Until then I freely said
transportation, home, perfect kitchen utensil, bridesmaid dress I didnít get to keep, ask
for his phone number, no one can save you, the picture drops in the dead of night.My Nudity Blows the World Apart
Now I say multiple locks, seven fiddlers, four books, hill and dale, may I have a transfer.
Night descending. Weíre on his chaise lounge. Ornate sensibility. Discussing his bookó
thatís what Iím there for.
His eyes want so muchówant a whole library of love.¹
Heís melting my clothes off. His meaty belly recalls his muscled youth, finds a semblance
in my slim form.
His partner comes home. Trouble in river city. Iím left naked under a couch blanket. The
partner trying to ignore me, normalize, sedate at the home bar. Something refreshing, gin
and tonic in a frosty glass.
I canít avoid my own nudity forever, for anyone. Iím crouching, a sculpture. Then Iím
¹I can see the library in the dimming light. Itís one room, like any home library (ornate
sensibility), just off the living room. He already has it, so how am I supposed to be it? Or
am I the librarian? Iíd rather be a room than a person.