bless me, bless you

maybe she just needed someone to drop off some albums with,
and her favorite pair of pants. but

maybe she thought that wine stain wouldn’t come out. that dashes
a previous theory, but maybe…

so the wine spill was purely accidental, and she had kissed me that one
time, (I think)

it could have been all an act, but she insisted I borrow the books,
(maybe she had too many books…) so in that case she only

wanted to get laid, and I was too eager to please,
and get laid. well then, damn,

look, here I’ve gotten myself all worked up
over what this could maybe be; stop.

a cat has been let out of some box (I have the aphorism
wrong) and somehow I’m reading the signals
as strong when they’re weak, man.

I get caught up in tiny things, tan lines,
how they look
when they sleep; maybe I can actually try and stay,
I tell myself.
and, jeez, look
they’re already running for the hills,
I’m blind to the signals, signs.


I get a text too soon to count as,
what? regrets, I guess. someone was too
into me. she got scared, she said.

I like getting scared. you’d think I’d
like getting scarred the way I look for knives

on belt loops, inside cute backpacks,
on a bralette strap. I gotta kick more people out
of bed, namely myself.

someone kick me, pinch me, fuck me up;
I do it wrong to myself.


“look at me, don’t look at me” the reeling
pumps out into my ears. passion pit. this is a

pit. take it easy, surfer. no need to get blood
out on the desk. shark mouth in checker-print

is somehow more violent,
but not as violent as these excel sheets and
email chains.

back in the time of sticks and stones they used
rocks and leaves from trees. I guess

I’ve got ingénues running around my dreams
with waist long lavaliers,

which is never a good sign. it’s an awful omen
in truth. Chance chatters in my ear, you strafe

around my memories, “oh, a hug,” that surprise kills
me, makes a waif
out of me. who isn’t a wounded animal these days?

if the hug isn’t obligatory (fucked up and fucked
all my friends) should one even attempt it?

last thing I want is a pity-embrace. someone needs
to put me down already before I get it in my head
I can get ahead

in this world, of you, any sort of lead. it’s all lost.

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