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There,
a little boy
down my eyeline
standing, bleached
brick alleyway beneath
us, sounds of childhood
stir-fried meats,
crashing mah jong,
old chinese women sounding
the walls with our language.

He stood
staring at me
as I stood
staring at him.

It was easy
to close my eyes
breathe it all in

Flashes of memory
beaded like sweat on my brow
as my eyelids snapped open.

Beneath the sounds
I hear it still
a crack,
a moan,
heavy,
thick,
tendrils
of breath
reaching out
to me.

seven I was
peering
thru a caged
basement window
on a dirty alleyway
at a delicate flower
wrapped in sash
suspended like
an angel. so white
creamy like the carnation
milk my mom gave me
with the white bread
as a snack.

crack!

I flinch
for her. A moan.
so many men, all
standing, no
one sitting
tickling, prying
her chest heaving
labored. I could not
see her eyes behind
embroidered silk. My mom
has something similar in her
trunk, wedding dress she said.
It was beautiful, so smooth
so soft. careful she said,
must be gentle, as I traced
the embroidery with my little hand.

crack!

I flinch
not for me.

A shout
chased me away
as I turned,
now many years later.

There
the little boy
walking away
holding a gentle hand
staring at his mommy.
A flower, delicate
on two feet
solidly walking away.

Clear Water

Below, a truck sweeps the street.
Soap washes my clothes, my body.
I clean incessantly while my mind
Struggles in the daily slop of ads.
Buy this, buy that, feel good, feel bad.
I can't sleep unless the radio is on.
I'm an addict who can't be alone
In the dark or the light.
I need what they're selling,
Want to be what they're selling.
I hate who I am. No glistening white teeth,
No confident smile, nor glistening hair,
Or six pack abs and odorless armpits.
I'm an ape, the human ape.
I pick my feet in the morning,
Urinate, defecate, scratch hidden parts
And release any number of gasses
From all my orifices.
The only skin cells
On the radio and television
Are mine, and they're dead,
And no matter what they sell,
I live in a body that isn't made up of
Pinprick dots of light, or happy jingles
About the blue water in my toilet.

Frantic

The need pulls me in very swiftly
Frantic search for batteries pulls me away
Wanting something more intense
Not wanting to go anywhere
Batteries finally found and shoved in
Opening drawer and pulling vibrator out
Beginning the motion of above
Ending with no movement left in me