to the patron saint of girls dumped at prom
they take the calmness from my prayers, defend the sanctity
of my maudlin heir. i've got an air conditioner
and 100 popsicles,
1000 yard stare; watching, not searching, i use the spleens of hot male rowers
for facials, caress their faces with my leg hair. all things from august
lye on my bed not touching.
bribed rabbits seduced by my nervous habits guard nebulously jealous feelings
for this place, rise about 10 feet
and explode into the shapes of plus signs
with little dots around them, then fall to the ground.
and now at nightfall i leave out their names, lay about neon sports bras
on an even playing field as a trembling hand prepares the soil for another,
breaking beakers all the time. oh to hunt for the glow
of a new body, to dunk my nude body in a lake. the love you’ll never be with
again dresses their body in the dark, bleaches their remaining sunsets
in the all saints bathroom. i’m holding space for a washing machine, burying
my boneless, quivering face in soft hair.

07/23/2014

Posted on 07/23/2014
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