Boys I Like: I
Boys I like collapse and fall from my sight,
leaving rust on the trapdoor of the floor and
my lips, two chapped and petty occurrences.
A mess of music seeps through the walls to
curl up on the floor like superstition.
A dragonfly unfurls its wings and the
trapdoor becomes girl talk, a spellbook,
kindling. I circle the spot like ring
around the rosey, once for each of them,
until the fire crackles and the ash blinds. In
absence there is chest tightening and blood
like sweet tea in summer. Broken middle
daughters lost in this resin room. The sound
of dragonfly wings slowly sinks,
sinks,
........
sinks.
Boys I Like: II
They’re swarming. Every spring they return like
swallows to the old mission in San Juan
Capistrano. Already their familiar
squawks like a belly itch box my ears and
boys I like are beginning to take flight.
Our co-evolution has left me with a
postmarked third eye and lobster claws, leaves them
sweeter and with dragonfly wings. Up north
they’re dragging the lake for the promise keepers
and the stalker who just couldn’t leave love
alone. Under-ripe berries fall like friendship
through holes in the ceiling and there is
a fire storm, chloroformed daughters and a blocked
trapdoor. I’m in love, but I always leave alone.
Boys I Like: III
You suck
on your cigarette
with the delicacy of a hummingbird.
Your left
index and middle
fingers are wiccans, mystical guardians
of holy carcinogens. Right hand raised with
match lit
you shake it once – twice –
shake and it is snuffed.
A hedonistic purl of smoke, the duty
of pleasantness and un-pleasantness, looks wet.
It takes the soft shape
of the dragonfly and dissipates into
the red sting stinging
your eyes—
staring
up at me looking
down at you, I pour
Band-Aids and zinfandel
through the oubliette.
Wanting your blood, I had to trap all of you.
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