I’m not
trembling
these shakes
and shimmers of skin
dance simple, scattering
under my pinks and peaches.
Life lives
whether or not
you’re the one doing
the breathing, the in and the out
heave and ho… and I’m not breathing
But I’m here
in full digitized color,
like a pansy ass television
steadfast in a rich man’s home
I’m here in conflict
with your straight lines
because I feel this skin
like no other touch
What,
do you feel?
Really?
Do you see me in my winter
spinster veil, my summer dress,
all wrapped up, sweating in my satin sheets?
Where are your windows-
your small hands talking
wild words with
quiet finger movements?
And where am I
in every dance?
The center?
The outskirts?
The edges of your shadowed skin?
It’s better you don’t answer.
I already know.
I’m out
of your mind.
July 9, 2001/March 31, 2003
copyright eak2003