a woman once told me that i am not like her because i don’t
bleed and so i started bleeding right there
on the bathroom linoleum.
i wish someone had taught me why forgiveness is
a common courtesy, why the oil and bitter ecstasy pooling at her feet
is not. show me shame and i’ll show you a looking glass, a hand-wrought
wheel jittering on the axle, a scarecrow.
make me an altar and so proselytize from my pulpit.
god, if you’re listening, bring me a home in which
to be a body, bring me the bass
drum of a death-soaked wildfire, bring me orchids, bring me
to a different fucking bathroom.
i don’t believe in you but i do believe in something
i hear when i am screaming and i am screaming.