Breathe, 2006

Breathe, 2006

I breathe and there are words that
come out of my lips.

I breathe and my head lightens.

I breathe and I wonder how I was so
Miss. Taken.

Will you hold me and lick right there?

I breathe and music comes out.

There’s music in my head. It doesn’t stop.
It’s very loud ragtime piano.

My brother wanted a New Orleans funeral.
Does he still know that?

I want to be burned and then eaten.

I breathe and there’s a song.
I breathe and there’s silence.
Words.

No words isn’t an option anymore.
I breathe and words spew outside.

He sings and I breathe.
Sing with me. I’m silent.

Will you look up in the grey sky with me?
Will you touch me right there? Just like that.

I’m not raw. I just stopped. I’m here.
I’m free. I’m innocent. I didn’t know.

He told you many times.
I just didn’t know it.

They all told you.
I know.

Where will you move now?
Where will you move through?

I want to play with you. Roll on the grass. And inhale.
Breathe in; not out.

Will you roll with me, squeeling?

Will you roll with me?
My body is larger than it was.
I sink, instantly.

He can breathe underwater. He smiles now.
He shivered for two days. I stroked his damp forehead.

I read. I twist string. I watch. I listen. I sit.
And the pounds shed.

It’s spring inside me and the world is frozen solid.
White stuff falls out of the grey sky.
I have to go and see the hippies tonight. She has two
inside of her. I am shedding away.

I breathe and I think of all of you.
Quietly. They sit around many times a day.
They tell each other what’s hard. They tell
the truth. They look to God. I look at my shoes.

Quietly sipping. Will you wake up with me in
the morning? Or will you crash?

I’ll pack up the house. I’ll send your things all over
this country. I’ll sell everything. I’ll go on the road.
I’ll leave.

Only you keep me in this frozen hand.
He sings quietly as he strums his guitar.
He hums. He plays jazz. Did you know?

He’s really good.
He’s excellent at everything he does.

I think I’ll go and take a shower. Let it fall over me.
He likes to take showers. He sits at the edge.
Will you come with me and wash?

I’ll just sit here; not running.
I won’t run. I’ll do one thing at a time.
And then I’ll call youth; marriage; middle-age.

Movement through time;
tumbling downward. Hurry!
Move slowly like I do.
One foot infront of the other.

One love infront of another.
He snores. I pant. The bed is cleared off.
The clothes are put away. The washer is going.
It’s a quiet life now; I put it down the drain.

And now I drink juice. I drink water
I inhale and words come tumbling out.
I can’t stop; that’s not a choice anymore.

Oil oozes from my skin.
My hands shake as I put another piece of gum
in my mouth. My face has changed. Break it.
I’ll go ahead of you and clear the way.
Then, you can follow. I’ll keep an eye on you.
Don’t worry.

Let me say good-bye to the friends;
let me say hello, slowly, to the solid people.
Let me leave you behind.

Just put one foot infront of the other &
I’ll follow you there. I’m right here
behind you, following.
Quietly. Make room. I’m here too.

home