Here, this bed.


here- this bed
it knows my hunger
like the hiss-spit pulling in
the belly of an unwanted child
forgiving my mouth
and letting me sink in
with my teeth, till my
eyes water and I give
in- again and again
as I whisper delirium
of dead things and new
things, -again and again
and I can hear the sound
of the seagulls moving
towards distant lighthouses
again and again-
til i can sleep without
my confessions.

.........................................


this morning i want to live

and perhaps again
i can stand with the very best
of men in ironed shirts and
waxed collars, their
scent of bleach and colgate
leaking so bravely
into this train stop,
like them i can
rely on the buttons that are
oh so many,
they are really pearls
as precious as the potruding veins
on my mothers hands,
i want to kiss them because
they make me look
and feel like i have been redone
with an eraser,
and their leather shoes
walking outside the
cubicles thud thud on
the carpet like
someone knocking
on your bedroom door
while you are
encased in a dream,
it will be
all around me,
just everywhere.