For Jeanette, Who Was Sad
Jeanette, who was sad
I have a blade in my thigh
When I dance I flake apart
Am I some sort of disease?
Did I make you shiver like that?
Did I open your head too soon?
Did I shove you out and away?
Say I didn’t mean to.
Say I didn’t.
Say.
Speak cryptic tongues into our bed sheets
Take me the sullen child,
The harrowing ten-year old into your arms,
Your embrace
Whispering like the moon.
Take me with you.
Take me with.
Take.
Give me a hardback on the sections of my soul.
Give me a full report on the workings of my brain.
Give me the scoop.
Hand me xylophone, let me fingers strum and tingle
Put me in the cage and send the crowds through.
Number my grievances on the consumer’s menu and let me order.
Did I make you shiver like that?
From the sky write me Jeanette!
You are nothing but smoke but nevertheless
Pick up the Grimm’s Pen I lent you.
Write me.
Write.
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