with a sense of lingering

-->

with a sense of lingering

you didn't need surgery. it was a flesh wound

of sorts, a swollen middle finger. who jammed it

up, into what? last time it was a knife wound,

someone tried to slash tires.

i'm not going to name names.

today the thumb has a thorn

or something irritatingly invisible. i call it

:the reason for the (blank):

blank is defined as any of the following:

drink, sex, longing, tears, food, internet,

run around the block, count to a hundred fears

backwards, this book or that, online dating,

weed smoke, pill down, treadmill, incite a fight.

the body gets buzzed, distracted. i remember

cigarettes, how they felt when i was hooked:

an outlet for unparalleled anger,

a life jacket drowning me. inhale,

let it all out.

it's not easy to pull the blinds.

i have strange curtains that don't block

public pains. at times i wait

guarded, outlining shapes, glancing inward.

have i inhabited this naked world,

this two-way mirror?

my hands could be useful, yet they remain

accoutrements, appendages.

only the fine fur of my best cat

friend knows their true current value,

the going rate on today's market.

i am trading in purrs.

which of these human senses is most starved? 

i ask repeatedly.

the view and shudder of depth i long to match?

the depth of voice i can echo (towards silence)?

that whole taste, unencumbered & unfurled?

that complex smell when face meets face, inhale?

or is it simply the abandon of

skin, hands, skin?

7/9/12