Your Lover Leaves Out the Book of Curses

Like an offering. Bread and fishes for the poor of
imagination. Things you didn’t even know could go wrong.
Chapter One.

Don’t say: May you die a slow death.
Boring and dull and big deal.
Say: May your every shot be a hat trick.
Say: May your heart inflame to the size of the moon and
fall from your chest like a cow.
Say: May you never look upon another lest your eyeballs
drip down your cheeks into the tongue of your lust and
char your tastebuds into eternal burnt hamburger flavor.
Say: Name your child ugly so the witches will leave her
at your side until she grows so pocked even the ground
refuses to take her.
Chapter two.

Call upon the snakes and the demons, the baba yagas,
the hags with hair of ragged braids, the multi-mouthed,
the mealy bugs. Call upon the original sirens, the devil,
the fallen. They are your friends.
Chapter three.

Chapter four is folded into origami.
Frogs’ eyeballs. Gila monster tails.
Finger bones carved like keys.

Chapter last is written upon.
The lettering backwards and slanted.
There might be blood.

Blind-ended tube.
Short-sighted surgery.
What else can I wish upon?
The Appendix
has been removed.




Image taken with iPhone.
Words written at the kitchen table, with the sound of water and The Moth.
Time Taken 8 minutes.
Brain on my current WIP.

note: All poems for the month of April are memoir poems in the form of lists

This entry was published on April 28, 2012 at 1:42 pm and is filed under April, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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