Posts Tagged ‘hands’

Like Sick Horses

April 14, 2010

I want to press my mouth on yours.

I want to wear a dress the color of dead fleas.

I want you to put down your guns.

.

I have checked the room

and it is safe.

I have checked my friends

and they are full of blood.

I have convinced your hands to

drop the guns, to wait trembling.

.

The birds and falling ice in my dreams

will break my body.  Don’t worry for me,

don’t go.

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Wearing Heels in a Minefield Is Stupid

November 14, 2009

I would like to violently

remove the front door

with my own two

weak female human hands

and throw it at the face

on your skull holding the

caustic billboard two-timing

slimy gray matter making

the inconsequential whining

grinding down the sensitive

brakes in my brain overheating

with the flare of stifled

impatience, coming out of

a pink-glossed mouth without

doubt about flimsy fictional

convictions – yes, I’m

an insensitive bitch but

at least I’ve put some

thought behind it.

Mannersisms

November 6, 2009

“Excuse me, ma’am; could you direct me to yer shitter?”

says the large white man with twitchy hands.

so I rustle through the cabinet and next to the pistol

I don’t know how to shoot is the bathroom key.

“There you are, sir,” I say, gesturing out the door to

the right.  I wanted to laugh real loud after he left

to drop a load, but he was so earnest – like he was

really tryin’ to be a gentleman just how his momma

taught him.  five minutes later he returns the key

with a shaky tip of a Montana Troutfitters cap and a

“Thank ya, ma’am.”  squinting out glass

double doors at vehicles choosing which

direction to drive,  I decide the podunk little

7-Up and Cheetos oasis I’m holdin’ down ain’t

so bad, you know?  it’s alright.