Few Artists Dare This Much Truth

I Declare...if this is not art...ART DOES NOT EXIST.

Lost in the Mail

Joe I am knitting this with bones
the blood spools
at my feet.
You do not know what you gave me
a lifetime
in one week.
It doesn't take much
to win a woman like me
left too long in shadows
of chupacabra night.
It takes more than most men
can comprehend
with their liar roses
and smooth telephone voices
dressed up for seduction riddle.
You are the man I never could have
dreamed or designed
with my broken
Baptist ghost girl hands.
I send you a letter each day
without a stamp or address.

I'm still here.
I'm still there.
In that tub
offering my throat
to the
sky.

Carved in Stone

Our names would be carved in stone, I said.
What am I doing.
What am I throwing away.
You cannot discard a tombstone.

I remember the sun of that day.
I watched you sleep on my mattress
as I wrote the letter telling you what
you did not want to hear.
Darling I love you but if I stay
one of us will die.

No man loved me no man will love me
as you have loved me
these seven years.
You do not label me as whore
even in the brutal whore face
of this, my mad mutable heart
crying for something more tangible.
Last night I cried thinking of another man
lost to me for the rest of my life
and you reached for my hand.
Christ. Christ. Christ.

What do I do
with this bounty.

For Husband's Ant Bite

My Next Tattoo

thou art that / tat tvam asi
on my right forearm in my favorite alphabet, Sinhalese

තෝ

රූපය

අරක

If You Didn't Come To Party...