This is it, my part of the porch,
the cold cement, rain dripping from the rafters,
ash on the petals, my toes going to ice,
your lonely lovely little heat vampire,
ready to suck you clean.
And the Cheshire cat is carved out of the sky,
peering, coming unglued, I think she may fall this time.
I feel the rhythm of too many stories in my skin,
ribbet ribbet, the frog leaps into my hair, tattered,
tangled, this is what it comes to now, and I could kiss him,
isn’t that what they say,
spread my poisonous wishes,
make myself a prince.
I think I’ve lost my will to imagine, to strive to
drive the canyon floor route to my old me.
I left my soul on the side of the road,
you can see it when you drive by,
reeling in the guilt tread tire marked what if’s.
Maybe I should open a vein.
Maybe I should close the blinds.
Maybe I should shut my mouth.
Maybe I should just wait for the endorphins to rush in, take me away,
heal me, hurt me, rip open the pores of my ever-smiling face.
I want you to see through the escalations,
the drama-queen purrs and pounces,
find the reason of the girl
in the whore in the mother of pearl.
Find my spot on the porch,
with the rain, the flooding
choking monster of regrets and wonder.
and I wish and I may that this night was upon you and
I and him and everything just would disappear and run
around and back again. Make sense again. Be true,
And the moon, and your voice, the hoarseness of too
many, too much, too little.
Come back frog, come back cat.
Give me my happy go lucky ending, let the credits
roll, a final kiss, a last breath, give me something I
can take home with me, a piece of something that will
keep me sane, keep me chained, keep me here and now
and not on this porch, but with you, in you,
But this is never satisfaction, the moon heals, but I wander,
she’s a wanderer
she’s a wanderer