like a meteor shower hail storm into my mouth
this mouth is open to cafeteria food bombarding my system
and my clenched fist              sharper than n.y. cheddar eyes
under construction destruction and remodeling that’s fine
to avoid the living things: children, disease, companionship
become more honest than a breathalyzer test for the underaged twit
swerving out of ways of street views of corner cross streets, cameras, crowded sidewalk
forgetting what humidity is but humility is my cousin
and there’s not enough room for everyone to walk
between skyscraping boxes that scar the sky in a never ending wound
the cunts we’re made of      lovely enough to live in
to be your own personal skyscraper of metal and mirror
making everything twice it’s size its meaning twice the space
that’s why there are two of us and we can make two more or ten
but each one is half you half me
that’s only biologically 
if that’s hubris
oh well

ambiguous as a glass without water
and states and time changes away
i am no longer part of that situation
i no longer am     i linger longer for the situation that i am not
i am no longer     i am situational  i am anything but part of an I AM poem
so forgive me and eternally jealous i will be
eternally wondering until the day i sleep with my own   sleep alone
until then i am longing and not even desirous
i am pursuit   i am prospect   i am anything but poet

these are the things
that life objects are
that we are
that we make
children disease companionship
and that’s fine if alpha males don’t stop fucking and dumping
riding the machine wave of sour-minded disease particles and a full time job
if radical republicans remain radical republicans
there’s nothing i can do about that
but keep on recycling

if there were always room for everyone to walk on this crowded sidewalk
then half of us would be touch-free car wash bodies made into un-objects of desire
of avoidance of crossfire on the cross section of the asphalt
i won’t think of whose shoes stepped under mine in the history
of this dirty air and unwashed dog piss counters
even after the rain it stinks and that’s to be expected
because there’s not enough water in this sink to clean

so we might as well love it go as far to preserve it
and sooner than now every mountain that we ski down and sweat up
will be landfill mounds of the waste of our mouths
and how clean we think we can be isn’t history but mystery
and that’s enough for rhyming

i am clear as to what must be done
and that is to say i really have no idea at all
but that i am here straddling my typewriter on the bed
and i don’t mean that in a madonna-esque type of way
like you see her hugging the television with her legs in that video
but i mean that in the sense that this loud machine has its own way of loving me
and that the position of my legs in relation to the sweet smith corona
only adds to the relationship 
like loose skin that falls off its frame
to kiss a man’s neck and be able to tell he’s seen the life
let the wrinkles show it

the tequila in the freezer
and the change on your desk
are as female as Sex
as Chicken Scrap Of Adam’s Rib Kitchen
yes even martinis have gender let me gender you
see how far a women studies class gets us
when it’s all class and marx wasn’t the only one
to want a girl as sweet as tequila
to stay with him going down
and coming up too
it takes armpit hair
sagging nipples into soup of sweat kisses 
and pollution made into a tropical mixed drink
as a sober girl is welcomed by an old guns-n-roses song
the jungle of tested veins getting tested again
and me i am as unexciting as another’s brother
waiting for news from the biological mother
ambiguous as a glass without water
that’s not a bad thing

to leave the unwanted parts of me
with the dust from 1904 in the subway under times square
above ground disney holds the genitalia of triple X entertainment
in each palm of hand in each palm of each
hands of tokens of waving flakes flaming conflagration salutation
in the aftermath of my in-actions and a dozen waiting room magazines read
my uterus communicates with the moon behind my back
while i set sail to the island that is every exboyfriend
every name i ever wanted to paint in mural on my wall
binding myself the dislocated sister with the windows open and the shades left up
soon i’ll be decades worth and it won’t matter what happened when i was 16
whose windows i lived in and who i let into mine.