This is the *exact* time of day
When the corners of my mouth
Are too heavy to lift,
And smiles cost too much anyway.
I'd rather burden the world with my
Lead-colored, two-ton eyes
Than let you carve another inch
Out of my skeletal structure.
The cheekbones I never had are
Etched in sharp relief
On my ever-thinner skin.
The shadows have never been
Deeper, or so razor-edged.
I've never been more profound.
If I don't open my mouth to
Tell you what you've done to me
It is because my lips are cracked
And I'm clinging to each fragile
Flake of skin, terrified
That they'll all fall away.
The creases in my palms have
Grown into chasms, canyons
Full of wizened trees and black
Frightened animals, all wondering
Why the sunlight left
Without saying goodbye.
I've collected mortar underneath
My fingernails, fashioned out of
Dry, dead skin cells mixed with
Leftover salty eye-water.
This is the *exact* time when
There's nowhere left to build
Foundations or support,
And it's too late for trenches,
Sandbags, and barricades.
The *exact* moment of familial
Desolation, and dissolution.

07/30/2002

Posted on 07/30/2002
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