i walked down the street to a house
four people I knew well one I didn't
was sitting on the couch writing about
feet and floors and the walking plane
that was me
in case you didn't get the postmodernity
I pose

everyone is posing again
winter scapes
my polar bear upstairs
in my bedroom in suburbia
i lie and get fucked by inanimate objects
objectifying me because I asked him to come on my face
because I don't know what else to do
I don't know how to have sex the right way
i don't know how to let someone kiss me softly
i don't know how to kiss someone without
thinking of their dick hard in my face

floor boards
gin and tonic
alcoholics i want to be
anonymous like god
like a pause between my sentences

i forget how to talk and make jokes
and laugh along
and tell stories that amuse myself
and revisit my own past
and live in my real present

i can't figure out how to live
i don't want to do this how easy would it be to just leave this room
and walk on and on and on until i froze
from exhaustion or sleep or the coming brittle heat transfer from atmosphere to rain to gust to
offering my lust to the first trucker who appears

i am beautiful or something
relevant.

when i look i the mirror the eyes that look back
tell me that next summer it'll get better
that next winter it'll get bigger
that next lover, it'll get green tongues twisting love longing falling watching waiting depressed loving turned stone cold foxtrot down hot sidewalks hand in hand both of us men in white writing.
both of us headless with a chicken.

we can split the nights between sheets
between sheets and fur and freezing each other in time
making pots and pans and stepping into the outside world was like stepping into my own exhaled breath
you can whisper to me in my sleep
because this time i'll sleep
instead of watching your eye lids flutter and wiping grease from my incurable tea bags

how do i do this how do i live this how to i do this how do i live this
the thing is
sometimes
i think seriously
about how easy how fucking easy it would be to end it
to walk
and walk and walk
and
it would end it when i stopped taking one more step or one more night.

good bye good bye

oh nineteen days on calendar terms
oh insipid insufferable voice that belongs to my throat.