a liar

undulation told in the bathroom
a liar. house settles between
finished and tall, and tall and
unfinished. the first howlings
of the year. bathroom shudders
a drip tap told me. to fear is
a fiber thing. houses are really
large woodwind instruments we
chose to live in. unfinished shows
us this in gale force, a low calm
pitch, resonating a window. left
open. fear is a fiber thing. as is
the rolling bucket. the slow sliding
then the silence. a little gasp.
undulation told the curtains it
was a liar. closed the doors. made
a little room, of stillness. sat. drank.
washed it’s bleeding teeth.
folded dirty clothes. ate a cake of soap.
undulated. said i was a lair. unfinished
house next door sings like a flute
i wonder if it confuses the bats and their
precious
little
echos.
whether it sounds like their mother.
and they begin to roost in her chest chamber.

Advertisements
a liar

queen/drama

over the phone is easiest/my mother always said i would make a good actor

my eyes rest easily on the floor/my mother always said i went crazy when people visited

i say yes, i would love to meet you today/my mother always said i was a drama queen

BUT ALONE I HOLD THE SILENCE BETWEEN MY EVER PARTING LIPS

MY MOUTH OPENS SO WIDE I TURN INSIDE OUT THAT IS WHAT WE CALL PANIC

MY HANDS FUMBLE IN THE BATHROOM CUPBOARDS AND FIND THE REMEDY

i paint my lips with deep red blood/my mother caught me once trying to be a lion

the only difference is that now, i feel obliged/said i would fool the world

 

queen/drama