How To Ask Someone To Let You Love ThemI think you keep secrets under your skinlike trees keep rings and do not know it,like the sea teems,like dark and quiet spacekeeps every ray of lightthe stars whispered to one anotherwhen they were still youngand dying to make love.I think you keep secrets in youlike the desert keeps sands,like sleep keeps dreams,like cities keep sleepless peopleand people looking for sleepless peopleto fall asleep with.I think you keep secretslike secrets like to be kept,and I want to learn them all.
WanderlustI consider creeping outbefore you wake, out the doorand into the road and down it,until this place dwindles.Do not mistake my meaning:I do not wish to be rid of you.I only need some nights to beelsewhere. I have becometoo familiar with these walls,with the silences and soundscreaking and speaking between them,with the shape of my bodybetween them.I will go out now.I will go out and I will standin the road and look down its milesand wonder how many I could wanderbefore dawn came up and you.
What You Aspire ToYou want never to be confined to shelves.You hope they will keep you in coat pockets,in purses and mouths. You hope they will needle youinto their arms, their hips, their shoulder blades.That they will scrawl you in paint on alley walls,on the whitespace of billboards, on bathroom doorsand trashcans. That they will scribble you downon napkins and the backs of coffee receipts,and that they will leap up on banisters and balconiesand scream you out at passersby.You hope they echo you forever.You hope they speak you out loud,loud like a siren or a child wailing, like a train cardivorcing its tracks under the earth,like a tornado waking up in a trauma center.You want never to be confined to shelves,to dust and sticking pages, unopened and forgotten,save by scholars and esoterics.You do not want to be read.You want to be devoured as if by wolves.
Kissing StatuesI imagine you.You are kissing all the statuesin the Louvre. You interjectbetween dying Arriaand concerned Paetus,between the knife and the breast,and you plant your lips on hers.You kiss bearded burlyHerakles, the dark cheekof bronze Adonis. You warmhuddled L'Hiver with your breath,kiss the head of the lion bitingMilon de Crotone upon the thigh.You kiss agile Mercury,you kiss brooding Mars,you kiss even the wounded deer,the hunting dog's teeth,the hand of the Geniusthat clutches the knife.
For Falling Out and For KeepingYou asked your motherif you could keep your baby teethand now you have a jar of themon a shelf above your dresser,beside a tin cup full of thistlesand a book of Buddhist prayers,a red book, and purple thistles.You told me onceyou would like to die and be buriedwith a mouthful of seeds, without a box,out in a field of swaying green grassso thistle could grow up out of you.You said it was the closestyou could get to reincarnation,and when I asked what the baby teethwere for, you said they were for falling outand for keeping.
The Knot GoblinWhile you sleep and you snooze,he winds and he screws,he gnarls and knottles and twistsyour hair in his teeth and his fists,your hair into lots of tight knots.You wake in the morning a mess,your hair like a tangled bird's nest,and he watches with snickers and giggleswhile you snag your hair out of squiggles,your hair full of lots of tight knots.