long distanced

I'd rather not--
I'd prefer to--
wet my lips and watch
you watch me.
I might turn to you and
say, "pretend this isn't happening."

better for Sodom and Gomorrah

Today the city, tomorrow
the salt-licked woman musing
about dirty dishes in the sink,
and a doormat needing sweeping.
We each have a vice-- the bit of pickle
left floating in the jar, the piece of
kernel caught in teeth-- we pick
and pick and say, "Enough, I like it there."

I am not my own

Release the grip; drop the pen.
The crawl instead of the climb.
A picnic invaded by ants--
be carried, be swallowed whole.

one mile to Jericho

The goodnight;
break of day rubble pinched
between teeth and toes-- rubbed
out, the evening erase.
The six day march
to rest at one-- the blast of
trumpet to bring down walls--
the fortified city skin.
One mile to Jericho--
the relief from 9-5.

Beneath the Vatican

I once had sex with a priest on a pool table. The red, yellow, orange balls kept getting caught under the arch of my back, the backs of my knees. He gashed his head on the dangling green lamp-- a strip of blood down the side of his ear. I stopped kissing his priestly collar.
"No, my child, please continue."
My dress unzipped, I'm not sure how, perhaps it was God.

Before the affair

Before the affair comes
the look-- the drag of eye
across the room, up the face,
over the lips-- the pierce of
possibility under wraps.
Before touch come thoughts--
pitched like tents in mind fields;
escaping like convicts
squeezing through floor cracks.
Before the bed comes
the talk-- not dirty, but clean--
tonguing one word at a time,
filling holes with such sweet dirt.
Before the affair comes
the resolution, "I would never".

This is real-- although I do not know how

They think I invented this--
to have a friend, to feel safe
in the dark. When I talk about
You they nod and humor, thinking
it the same as a child speaks of ghosts.
I cannot explain Your coming
and going; the way You speak and
than You don't. I do not understand
Your new morning mercies,
or the way Your breath leaves no
fog on glass.