because everything destroys

a man came into the coffeeshop

and I force-smiled at him as I gave him his coffee

and he said, What a great smile!

  and I was uncertain

  was he serious?

  did he not see my almost-cry?

and then he said, You must be having a great day.

before he left he told me that my smile was the best part of the whole experience

  and I wanted to punch his face off

a trio came into the coffeeshop

a massive stroke-victim in a wheelchair

  asking question after question

  his dainty, birdlike hand turned awkwardly on his knee 

  he sort of demands an avocado sandwich, which we don't have

  and as he's asking questions, an uncertain woman comes to the counter

  so I take her order

while she's ordering, the child with the wheelchaired man

  interrupts to ask if we have banana bread

  and we don't

I tell her to hold on.

  while I'm helping the other woman,

a man with a thick german accent pushes up to the counter

  and asks if the pork sandwich 

  is served hot.

I have to tell him to hold on.

I have to ask all of these people to stop interrupting each other

  and the man in the wheelchair makes me want to cry

  because his left side is so soft, saggy, delicate

  and he is so demanding & angry.

I wonder, would I be, too

  I am going on a very long vacation starting now

I have no idea to where

  or when I will be back

   or if

    bc we're 28 yrs old still

     & I'm not too curious

basted

I woke up later than usual but I am in here,

and the first thing to notice me was a tiny little tear,

the backwards kind

been waiting for the sun to rise

so it could greet me

back through the nose tunnel

into the canals

so I'm breathing underwater

drowning in sleep

like waking up to your weeping

like I woke up with this soft dog

in yesterday's dress

I've trained John Shinn to not refer to a plaid shirt as a flannel if it isn't flannel

he calls it a plaid, then

I don't even notice that I do this

but maybe I'm incredulous

or maybe I'm just correct

maybe I'm a boss

it's just a shirt.

do you want your shirt back?

the ironic one

it smells bad

it looks bad,

it's a sad, terrible t

I wish I didn't know where it was

within the handful of those I love

there are some who are more difficult than others,

some do worse, some cause upset,

some I can't barely get along with

some I trust less

some are easier to hurt,

some are wound up, like me

some are delicate. 

But we all remain 

even when one of us loses

or loses it

& we don't give up for anything.

I expect everyone to hang 

because to hang is to be worth it is to want to be worth it.

To say I love you in a silence,

I'll love you whatever,

even though you've lost your mind,

or are selfish,

or are too tender for conversation,

or have overabundant expectations.

I'll be here when you get back 

from whatever terrifying trip

you're on

true I had fallen asleep

pretty little, 45 to 48

True I had the corner of the mouth, a resemblance adamant, expensive. I feel between about my making nonmetrical. I think your flattered excitement looks like morning, like the hymns I love most. And nausea beats, it could be for her. Sleep chants used, something about you in my little chest. Remind me uncomfortably, a song I say. Just kiss the corner of one another to oblige.

The poem, around my mouth it disturbs. I open my eyes in hymn, large and delicate. So constantly around sleep. To praise ornate, with a white lace displaying of one another. My only thought is of you and porcelain. Spontaneity makes mentionings, appears a strange man in my canticle. His size varies from tiny confident, only just remembered that I was, too. I can't help but to cantillate, to chant large constantly for us. He tried to intone the crystal truth that I’ve mentioned to him so. His arm around me, we capered; champagne could never be much. I declined with a tired dance, the flute crowding him. A year he left in a lively, delicate display. Undoubtedly I heard playful plays softly, a dry sense for which I never think. The shower is formal, old-fashioned, which I like but don’t look for.

When he came back, he was a person placed. Neatly was he in the high-pitched laughter on  a street. I’m sure dressed, tending to lapse. Last night seeing him again, blue objections still bouncing in bed. An effect tucked in. I reeked of carapace; my skeleton, rotting rotting away. I’m getting boring, of course. Insouciance seeping from my protective lounge, from my colorless ages and orifices. And flesh, decorative or disgusting, emerald eyes that always matter.

Meet someone in a half shell, buxom, buxom… cute but asleep. After an hour I was light, automatic and ruby, nearly colorless. Up north to hear this, my decorated hair pearlescent. in the negative weather so beautiful, desire supporting the skin. Minutes I knew to never stop time. Coffin of amethysts it wasn’t to see. Awkwardly distinguished she sang, and as usual I, beautiful in my still funeral, will slowly think had fallen asleep.