June 2014

Tuesday’s child
hasn’t met all yesterday’s
breakdowns, yet.
Sunday’s child knows god
to be just a collection of images
lost in electricity and its attendant sorrow.
Monday’s child
is just too weak to weigh
what can be lifted from Saturday’s slumped shoulders
and laid to rest.
all the other days lie barren,
bent backwards and in pieces
belying the peace that could be known
if only we found the recipe for rectitude,
the (moral) code that unlocks all those parental doors –
society is a mother,
but not for dayless children,
not for dayless children,
not for
the limp and livid,
the sorry and slutted,
relentless, ruined,
crazed, craven
broken, rebuilt, broken again, rebuilt again, broken againrebuilt,
society is a mother,
but not for us.


Observe your breath –
is it still
Observe your breasts
as they rise and do they
fall as you do,
limbs leaden,
their loss of lift leading you
this ground your grave,
this water your weightless
end, your eternity.
observe your breath –
picture it
cut off, choked out
observe your breasts
imagine them
motionless, meant for love no more
meaningful than the ones you’ve known before
this embrace
this farewell your final
fist in the fight.
observe your breath.
is it still