dear love

my body's punishing me for a scurried resurgence
my mind's the breaker of my my head,
spewing sacrements,
like heady wine,
to a stoic barrage
of homeless heathens,
queued for soup
and soapy conversation.

And there I am a ladle
to plunge and draw,
plunge and draw.
And there I am a hot syringe
to draw and plunge,
draw and plunge.

and here's the doctor again.
he's come to generalize
the contents of my stomach
he's come to call sorrow
a cure for early-onset alcoholism.

dear love,
the heart within my thigh
has a circular pulse,
fighting last night like a tantrum,
and waking to a flatline.


dear love, Oh love,
how will you wake me once you know me?

Helen

I will paint the nails of your right hand and
always hold your ankles and promise that you're okay
we can forget to take our medication together
and shoplift trinkets and pine for bamboo rugs and that is what growing up is--
growing up is to catch a predator, and midnight ice cream runs,
and complaining about addiction,
and shrinking clothes, and figuring out
for the first time I don't feel always lonely,
only sometimes lonely,
but it helps to know that you're in reach
it helps to know that when I wake up in the middle of the night,
I can sometimes hear you breathing and know that you're ok.

I believe in you, go get 'em tiger.