But the air

Caught between in- and exhale
my throat a hoarse rusty-runged ladder of ruin
the air climbs struggles falters, then lapses
a weak puff emerges-
and tears run for their lives.

a little sandy-haired boy
who trusted me to no end
a woman blue-eyed and pale-
and I'm left again.

these are the fragments I scrabble at blindly
as I pant up that ladder towards light, towards freedom
my fingernails bleeding, metal flaking, arms shaking
if these are those fragments, I'd rather be blind.

but the air asks you not for permission or existence
pushing out in mere mockery of any free will
my escape from the darkness is similarly mindless
with no memory of starting, it will never desist.

so the sheets twist about me, cotton no consolation
as sleep taunts me, obnoxious: "maybe next time, we'll meet"
but I can't stop my mind, that enraging projector
constant flicker of torment: "just stop," I entreat.

but the air elbows up pumping brain-feeding oxygen
and the shrapnel of images flies through the dark
my mind pummels on; as I grasp at one feebly
a vicious laughter is heard; I could hear its cruel bark.

"Just stop," I whisper into the pillow,
"I don't know what I feel, what this is called,
but I'm breathing- which I didn't ask for, by the way-
There's gotta be a name for this somewhere," I venture,
my hands searching in vain only grasp at thin air.

and the bluey-eyed boy,
(can I save him from helpless?)
and the woman I caught glimpse of
(will she ever stay still?)
they are caught in my throat
between rungs of definition
at once stuck and elusive;
that's the progress I've made.

but the air is a fighter, last to go, it still hitches
up and down jagged edges and it saws my throat raw
all is locked in the space between chest and expression
except the tears, which I silently cheer in their escape.

Supermarket

Damn, I lost the list. Gonna have to wing it
lulling elevator music's on, my brain is gonna sing it
all day - hey there's a bargain on pettiness
at the fresh feelings counter, buy 2 for 1 reckless desire
(drama club holders only).
goddamn it, where is it?
Cans of hate, lividity, longing, lust
revenge will be in frozen goods
that baby's screaming woman! give him some humor, it's cheap
excuse me 10 items or less - god i wish - is clarity on sale today?
i'll take a sack of longing, what the hell, it doesn't spoil
and some french desire and friendship for the weekend;
they've got my brand of cold here, i smile with approval
fuck i can't find oblivion anywhere.

Smell

there's a smell in my house and it's crazing me slowly
I'm growing a tail as we speak
I circle around it, my nostrils full flare
it won't let me forget me -
this bitch is in heat.

a little bottle she sold me, she smiled at me, knowing
it reads 'french musk', sits harmlessly on the piano
two sticks dipped inside it, they tease me, inviting
breasts heaving, groin grinding-
the music's so sweet.

I said 'hey, I'll be one of those fine-fingered ladies
who keep scents for room ambiance in a ribbon-wrapped glass'
and unwittingly brought home this storm in a bottle
hot breathing, hair sweating-
my lust is replete.

I sniff at the bottle, carefully, meekly-
I want her naked armpits wrapped around my neck her thighs around my stomach corner of her jaw in my mouth as we suck on skin together breathing hotly fingers kneading tongues competing-the one in the park the one in the supermarket the pregnant neighbor who sways on her tree the one on tv the one with the sexy voice on the radio the one on the bus the one just before me the mother of three who is never unfazed-
that smell is so cleanwoman and I slink off like a slug
leave behind me a glistening trail of desire
lungs sighing, head swimming
I confess my defeat.