two of us

i felt so much panic
i can n e v e r be worldly.
this soft creature inside of me,a beggar woman the mute the defected ex human holding a piece of cardboard that reads:

love me i n t r a v en ou s ly.

what would i take from you
that you have not already given away?
what have i saved for
in the first place?

those people who live in mansions
we only know their names because we are sick
we are obsessed and we are fascinated
with isolation
those people who live in mansions
rotting front door and depressing yard 
as if we are any better.

straightening out my face
stretching my neck higher,above the sea
telling myself terrible things such as
one day you will be lovely
how many years does that process take anyways?

       "love me intravenously!"
        "no,no,no.....get away."
                              when you are pushed around by the silence
you hear yourself saying to some poor soul 
(cue: explode)

the secret of our watery love is:

the deeper i sink and
the longer you wait
for me to surface
to come about with my
whistle never blowing
that seems so cruel
how could i ever ask you to stand by an ocean
waiting on...
the sound of life,my life
counting on
a little brass whistle
and a shaking broken voice
how terrible of me
so please
get away
i am already so sorry

the doctor is reluctant to touch me,again.
he barley breathes near me
yesterday he asked if i would consider
more help
--"post trauma signals,i sense..."   
he stares at me now. 
and the wall clock 
that ugly
 wall clock,it ticks as we sit
                                i gather myself:

                        -- oh well,(pause) only guess being:

the indelible blow from death row
that year i stopped
that year i wanted to die
that year i was held in bed at gunpoint
the year no one knew how to speak to me
the year my body was rotting so much that
i thought i might bury it in the garden
to spare the neighbors 
from the manual labor
from the eventual."

doctor looks sick and i don't know what i said wrong

--who held you there? was it a spirit? did the spirit have a name?
 did the spirit have a face?
coming off of what? what cloud? who,do you think you are?

what was i supposed to do then?
after this i remember a dead love
i read our letters from the month he died:

--sometimes i go months without any words from you 
if i speak up,did i loose.
--please don't die,the world will just stop without you.

and so it was and so
it is.

my wounds are so deep
the wind itself makes them bleed.

when he drowned that fall, he was holding on to me.