march 2nd 1993
i felt like a diary
yellowy paper
the beautiful baby blonde
cover
up-in the middle pages
blue cornflowers
pressed
tightly in sequence
on my thighs
a few overnight blossoms
in march
my summer dresses
always worn and torn
below the knee
the knee in my below the belt
where your pen
waxed and red,
like afterbirth
bled too much ink
on one spot
because the urge
lacked control
march 2nd 2007
but tonight your present
is a set of tires
flat, deflated
not blown up with ego
and the slut will bear weeds
half demolished
by winter
it came late,
but once your gone
the months will come back
and i’ll hate one week
each time
just the first week
and i’ll flush you away
with afterbirth






















i'll be back soon, i promise. 
31 old applause
