What did I mean that during parties I choose the sofa // like a sick cat? That when tattoos are dispensed I’m first / in line? That books full of other people’s misery // make the beach infinitely more pleasant? Stargazing is another weakness. / Too much I examine the patch of dirt where nothing grows // where buried curiosa aren’t deep enough, though in Short Answer / I’m all for dancing alone in a silken robe. Friends call. // Mostly the machine answers. Mozart makes me cry. / I kill spiders without guilt.
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She did not think his chest a well.
Did not wish to cast him, to armor his organs.
No heart toll.
No love tax.
She was not a poet,
found no beauty in the way his hips
jingled when they made love.
It was a necessity. The only way she knew to make a man stay.
Love. What worthless currency.
Did not wish to cast him, to armor his organs.
No heart toll.
No love tax.
She was not a poet,
found no beauty in the way his hips
jingled when they made love.
It was a necessity. The only way she knew to make a man stay.
Love. What worthless currency.
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