Saturday, April 23, 2016

Cassette


Why does my body ache
more than ever now
Not just because I am rounding
the bend yet again
but because I am as celibate
as a moonless, starless sky
I am the cassette tape
snarled and eaten up
in the dusty boom box:
Prince & Michael Jackson
are now dead,
what's left?

What seems a normal place
is odd to me now
I plan and plan and plan
and then plan to plan
but can't get out of the basement
of bashed up things--
and those b & c words--
what he called me--
bitch & cunt -- and sometimes
whore

That's my pet name,
I'm convinced
& then there are
invitations taken away
at the last minute
because he is mad at me
blames me for stealing
for I am the blame of blames
because he doesn't want
to ever see me again, again
on this day I am supposed to
celebrate my breathing

But don't forget the gun
because that is trivial
what happened is repeated
in his spit, spraying you
with bullets
no one sees...
This is a good time
for abandonment, dear, 
silent, cold universe with stairs
that go nowhere,
where are you taking me?
Like the twisted cassette tape,
so ceaselessly unwound,
what is the order?


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