Sometimes
su   su
   su
some times i stutter
and i feel foolish

and when i stutter and feel foolish
I feel like a hcild
like i do not deserve to be called an dault
those hands are tto big to be yours
you might say
that hair on your face and above your penis
do not belong to you

sometimes when i stutter I beg to GOD
to let my arms and legs melt
squeeze & mold into my body like soft wet dirt
the kind that drowns worms
So that i take take up as little space as
p  o     s    s     i     b       l   e
i would roll into the dark place
bettween the radiator and wall    behind
the book case
                       and i would   sing
not words though            no words
words are rough and boisterous and
prick              like            thorn.
obtrusive and brackish cutting from
behind my lips
I sing soft sounds into the
book case backing letting Nicole
and Chuck and william interpret me
through their thick text and iNk and wisdom
think what they will

I Sing Sounds

the sun peels through the blinds
drys me of my moistyre
my lips chap and dry
                         and cling together

so i do not sing my sounds i Hum
i hum the sounds the clothes dryer makes
when my parents took turns throwing
the phone at eachother and
i would roll into the dark space
betweeen the dryer and the wall
pressing my cheek against the thick dust
      pretneding the hum and whoosh are
still as loud as they were when i ate
what she ate and drank what she
drank
and all was blind and right in the world
and i did not CRAVE the
hum and the whoosh and
i did not sing hums and i did not
Sing sounds or wish
for melting limbs and words were
just her heart certain and steady
beating softly in
the distance.