Kayla Siobhan

i took the time to look
to see the fresh youthful
skin frothing at the rim
my cup so empty, nearing the bottom
for some time i have hoped for something
a pen, a paper, look, lights,
the thing that is real or happening I’m not sure of

i never knew it could be this way
awake without ears, so quiet
eyes blurred with simplicity
one down, mine
head is tilted, sagging to the edge yet
hopeful for something
any colors, any birds or water for my mouth
so sour and dry spitting sadly at this scream

it could be you, all your fresh
downy powder of rose on my tongue
the tip of you, so slender and quick
relish a ghoul inside my bed
he is all i have left.

Mrs. Too has a daughter for today
her he-hair thumbs above boys
blotted mannish clown caps yet
her studio sketched lips stay
buttoned by cross hairs;
her daughter hides in open
stalls for cats only come to sit
on her lap while she is pissing
while wondering: How fast and how
much can a woman eat when alone?
(She is) cheeks like shovels full of
flowers standing neck-less and deep
ended by rumpled people for all time.

you grow when i kiss you
squashyou.
your right eye holds a lonely grain of black
outside its iris, fallen
out of the nest.

you face the heater when you sleep
i can see that scab, growing
i can’t stop
myself from picking, tearing
peeling away crushed edges moving
onto tender red beneath.

i scratch but you leave marks
it hurts best on my fingers
where i bend reach. i need
to soothe with what burns me
my blood, it pools
in the cracks of my hands
these fingers still somehow rough

you sweetly listen as i rub away.

The phantom, the naïve flirting
her infant of a thousand parents
she had a “bad heart”
always for him

up on the hill, Dr. The Great
Bear is happier but really envied
because we strip tease and
weep upon a big rainbow
for my Triassic funny bone,
the little orphaned thread to my heart.

Angel veins are like jelly
fish twisted in my fingernails
I stand in your momentary
swoon skin and bone,
I do it gold baby.
Herr and burn-
Let’s stay for the air.

Have you ever seen an
elephant gas mask?
Dominatrix mask for the moon
or a scarecrow made out
of three mailboxes?

Paper cuts into readymade
bleeding hearts.
Have you ever scored a sore,
exposing the pink continent beneath?

Sylvia said, “Love set you going like a fat gold watch”
but I am made of copper –
the coiled mass from a
mothers unspun thread.

These little houses
have no homes
to hold them – only a plot,
that must steep
in order to thicken.

I gave you a naked
photograph of myself and
the only vestige I
have left of you
is an old Eskimo pie and
the skunk dyed
rabbits foot you gave
me, its nails now
crumbs at the bottom of my bag.

horseshoe, clean hit
against the rusted bar
(ringer, spit).

soles squelch against
maleficent pine.

shadowed teemers hang in a
fine line
(garb, gabble, & smack).

I will never know your face.