Back in the bedroom, she
Turns gray in the yellow
Light. Today,
Under cover, she is deeply
Buried.
Smoking, dying, getting
Off
The best
She can. Words come easy --
So
Real,
That was,
And wide open --
Here lies her starving heart.
Such a clean
Party --
Flat on the back,
And the nasty
Clock is stuck on the stupid beat of
One.
Post-
traumatic. Good enough.
Shaky hands,
Headache, please, fuck you.
Right now, someone tells her that all she needs
is air.
Right now, someone tells her that all she needs
is everything.
There is a place we call
Up there,
and a place we call
Down below, and somewhere in
Between,
Lives a human,
A canine,
Vicious desire,
And a small, empty
House
For sale.
Hold her hand when you take her
To the showing.
Make sure the lights are
On.
Make sure it is brick
Or stone.
C.A. MacConnell
