The Only Two Poems I Wrote Between July 19 and August 20, 1998 (an otherwise incredibly prolific year for me, poetically)

Trouble

and it’s those desires, the ones that get you into trouble
that you need to be wary of
no point in discovering
that you are weaker than you know

or

there is nothing to be wary of
no need to hesitate
jump in, swim around, and soak in the colors

or

sleep in
dream it out
dream the trouble out
until you’re weak from squirming


The Youngest Spinster

today, black, yesterday, bandages, tomorrow, not to be known, I am only guessing here
powder, insulated, skin to breaking skin, color it all in, covet its only sister

flowers growing on her legs
flowers growing on her legs
flowers growing, with a flourish, on her legs

she dances like a writer and that’s a compliment

the color wheel she pretends isn’t part of her clothes breaks, leaving only black and flowers (gray) and skin (hers) and not a spot of green, not today