The (Shut-Up) Years

i was (invisible) once
for about two years,

i was less than a leaf
put away from the dining
room table,

and i didn’t
like it at all, —

going about their business,
shaking their sandy little
salt shakers,

saying, “please
pass the butter,” all smooth,
and bitter cool.

and the worst
part was dessert when they’d
swallow their individually
wrapped secrets of life

god-damned chocolate-covered mints
rich people get beside their pillows

(you know? besides not having an
esophagus, a voice, a rough body,)

i knew i was missing the best part
of living which was to stand amazed,

“Shut up, sit down, nobody knows”

(i was invisible for about two years)
until some body real took notice


14: Real Toads


wrapped in the sweetest beginning i think

i come from nothing, but i’ll find my way of this
as i grow and grasp to close these intangible tabs
reaching for dreamy words to shut up withery skies
straining to clamp oyster eyes together; a stop gap
for saying everyone’s pearls are the same-same.

i come from backlogs, from avocado green couches
from whence sprang some well-grounded whispers;
but i believe in night, and i believe it’s okay to sleep
on heartache as i’ve supposed i’ll be living a long-long
time, so help me God in these nothing-but-nothings.


for Real Toads

when he speaks…

i go out of my mind
into the deep part
of his throat where
bass drums dance
around his stippled
adam’s apple

when he speaks
i lean in far too close
to his pied piper lips
so he can charm
without reservation
the frog in my throat

when he speaks
i fall in love with
his gilded tongue
and the beautiful mouth
wrapped around it
opened only upon invitation

when he speaks
i dream of a place where
i might have dared
to dance the tango of
pleased to meet you
and the pleasure is mine

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