Chicago, This Time Of Year

You only had one piece of advice
Relax you said, take it easy

In repose, in narrow jealousy

I wanted truth
As much as I still want it
What I know now, though
That makes it different.

If you get locked out of your house...



I broke the window
With urgency that glittered.
And now, I'm down the street
My pain is fresh, as much as it is forgotten.

Shards of glass across the stoop,
Stuck in my fingers, under my nails.

Whats on my hands,
Is also in my heart.

My advice:

Bleed, Sir.
You need to bleed.

what the shit?

does anybody read this thing anymore?
++++__+__))(**(&*&%&$

2 works

one.

i heard about a bank
who's money was stolen
by men in masks
from Seattle, I reckon

This story i heard
did not phase me
my interests still lay in other beds

this day was once
a day to remember
like birthdays in summer
"you've been meek for long enough"

kept waiting repeatedly

two.

i've met many a person
some like yourself
they forgot the innocence
of age

taken for granted
your sisters and brothers
they do not take pride
in knowing these things

so
dissolve your hate
and be free
of these weights
trust me

these days are eternal for us
this day is prospective each year

running back to saskatoon : bojangled

crimson-and-clover-face
and the spill of my breasts
working the shuffle to make an impression
on the horse that leads me to water
savage pestilence got in my affairs
closing the briefcase dully
i know that the only thing waiting for me when i come home
is cigarette after cigarette on your front lawn
and drowsy over-fed rage, that you imply
using mirrors, parables
soft tennis shoes wielded blindly
without importance or any specific insult
it's like you think i have no difficulty explaining
size 10 men's bruises
to my coworkers or neighbors
it's like you see it in my shining eyes
that none of this matters to me
you estimate my exhaustion
with an arm around my shoulders
guessing at how far an inch will really go
spoiled child,
how i wish i had not made you
slow-to-laugh and i meet rides-her-fathers-horse
for drunken night-swimming.
a good way to drown, and a good way to drown your sorrows
we'll all acknowledge our respective days at the office
and step off the cold wet pavement
our blackened soles first,
soon thigh high in cosmic truths
the stars are diamond teeth seething promises
but my mouth is full of smoke and wine and pills
and the pistol...
John Wayne style lesbian encounters,
no money on my nightstand
and shame in my heart.

You won't feel it

You can get angry
or get sad
or get fired
or get a raise
but you can't feel it in your soul.

You might get laid
or get drunk
or get on with your life
after getting dumped
but you won't feel it in your soul.

You will feel rich
and feel poor
and feel sick
and what's more
you will not know your soul
any more
than a yellow finch rested
on a sycamore.