december sixth

attempt at funk + alienated sex life = weird conflict.
I wonder if we write about each other at the same times.
Inability to translate geometric shapes
into comprehensible english combined
with not mentioning obvious lies.
Sullen silent treatment.
can't piece you back together.
can't build puzzles, never could.
three dee feeds me seedy wheaties with derrida on the box.
look I even name drop in prose poems.
new jacket new jacket new jack swing;
prince and bath towels: everything is DAMP,
your body is COLD, your face PREPOSTEROUS.

each memory aching with retroactive anticipation;
each phonecall a piece of bad news;
each and every, hot and heavy, weightless.

your beautiful eyelids
smoke exhaled
the full body cold shiver
that never often
enough
big toothed
grin

this is not the way I remember you

half dialed
dialated pupils
the masquerade where
I dressed up like me
but didn't feel
anything
other than hunger
nonsexual
and the wonder
of how
I
can
even
pretend to be a writer.