Saltsick IV

we have slept in these sheets.
I am approaching a time that will leave me
dry and boneached, stoneturned, moss
stripped back. Knotted hair.

I have not yet learnt the secret
sadnesses of ferns, of fossils. I am
trying, each day, a new way of crying,
a new place to stare at the sea, and I
think of this:

did I ever tell you how much water
I could swallow? Open-throated, pour
me full. I could drink and drink
and not reach the end of the ocean, and not
be satisfied with a gut full of salt

or the faint calls of lost creatures. This is all.

Saltwell

my own mania,
closeopening doors I choose,
stains on my bed, bloodhearts,
from me, from you, us, asking,
growing,

saltwashing and I remember
berries (small and white and chalky)
that were, are, mine
and I remember shells and
knives and rocks and seaweed,
remember swimming

and all of this quite literal
can't be taken away,
pennyadozen fantasy, must-smell
and old furniture,
flowers, 'don't touch the grill',
splinters and shells shells shells

taking me back
taking me back
Saltwell, Saltwell,
and I'm home.

drool

The air hangs low and still.
Know this:
I do not wear myself sleeve-hearted
for you;
this cartilage I crack
is not a war-cry
or a beat
for you to dance.

I bathe in my spit.

I am whole. 

this trick is easy:
there's nothing to it
and nothing from it.

even dawn found it
swimming through wallpaper
gluttonous for toes, for words
for a time

this trick is easiest
shut your mouth,
breathe through your nose,
repeat this prayer
through pinprick lips:

"not for me
the globular excess
waste away
waste away
waste away

not for me
milk drips on my chin
slow breath
slow breath
slow breath"

oldest friend and ashy grin
bones exposed and peeling skin
it hurt to let his words get in
happy patience wearing thin
and now, sun-eaten, we'll begin

                                        again