02 January 2011

The Room

An extra poem today. This is from college. 2000 I believe.

The Room/It Is Me Thinking

Tasting salt off the back of your shoulders a wire-thick scar runs
blade to spine small white pinprick holes along the sides

I roll my tongue over the skin

This is your seam the place they pulled you open threw your batting
tried to rip your arms off

            He looked like a scarecrow when they found him
            the runner almost didn’t stop

You roll over and tell me it still hurts when it’s snowing
The same times my knee swells and I lay in bed trying not to move

You smile say that you aren’t Matthew Shepard that you were just bruised
I kissed every break

            Frozen to – tied to a fence-post and bleeding
            Crows blinking not understanding

I watch snow collect on the window frost crystals turn the world to glass

            They keep track of how long he’s been dead online
            There’s a recording of a scream – ‘listen to Phelps’

Someone left a note on my door took a marker wrote in purple ‘AIDS cures fags’
They called me told me they knew I get up early for work go into the parking lot alone

            He had blonde hair and clear blue eyes when in 1998 –

You roll over I pull you near and smell you it is warm
A sound like buzzing fills the room

It is me thinking

About tomorrow the day after and the day after the sound of a voice in my ear

            It was cold – so very cold

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