The Sitting Room

Plastic as thick and slick as the lies

My uncle tells, and as sticky and uncomfortable

In the room we cannot touch.

Dust perfumed air and drawn shutters and

A couch too large to be.

It holds its breath, the tag hidden in its ribs

In case its belonging is impermanent.

The plastic is intact, the couch innocent

and Untouched.

It must want to be touched and used,

to fulfill its purpose.

Her watchful eye is blind and

I move in that space until I am in the room.

I want only to caress the slippery wholeness,

But I soil it

And it comes undone.

I am made in its unmaking,

And I find places that will not be seen:

Carving my name,

Leaving my blood–

Owning it.

They come to take it but it is ruined.


Cannot be sold.

It is filled to bursting with my secrets

And will be mine always.

And I think to sit properly

But instead it burns alone in the yard

Eyes accusing me,

Ruined plastic still glued to its melting skin.

Fire laps greedily at its skin

and at last it knows warmth.

She knows what I have done,

for she makes me watch.

It is behind her now and she lays at my feet

Matches and lesson:

Burn the broken useless things.

Star Bright

The stars bear witness:

Remanded to stardust,

I drew a breath and held—

A blip on eternity,

With only the stars to witness.

Time has me in his grip

He began ravishing me

At first light.

I beat against him and beg the stars

For more breath

Which I will only hold—

Who knows what abomination and delight

Might come

Should I release.

The stars will witness me

And they will mourn me

When all that is is gone.

I will be dust and the star I begged upon—

Also dust—

Always dust—

Will turn to vapor:




Mourned by no one.