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if you had an "instant therapy list" what would be on it?

what wakes you up/calms you down/clears your head/ 'makes you feel good'

now sleeps sideways on a bare for weeks mattress pillow half to the floor cool air climbs through a green tangled blanket, exposed, clothes piled high across the bed ( Read more... )

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rain drips through the screen to a grey tile floor. a nightmare awakes me hours early and i remember his skin against mine. still warm, i watch closed quiet eyes, lips parted and freckles my fingers can't count. my toes tracing lines on the ceiling while he sleeps. the third long night; july, june, september. i ride his bike laughing and scrape my ( Read more... )

i fall back on wood and my heart beats slow. the phone rings to ten and i click hook drop plastic on glass. the cords split, the mirror cracks. forget the immediate, dwell on the should be forgotten. every word written collapses to the last, tomorrow trailing lines from last month. i don't know what else to do. i'll be with him tomorrow and the ( Read more... )

something awakes you at mid-afternoon, maybe four, maybe five- you've lost count and the clock broke last month. you struggle but can't recall the last time you've showered, or why you ever thought it necessary to leave your bed. the smell of your sweat turns your stomach and you hazily think about flesh, or wine, or- anything that might help you ( Read more... )

dear dr. ____,

august the twelth, two pm, the second thursday on seventy five-
the rain is pouring like mad and i'm a mess of dead dialtones and static

a one-day-home phone call and the boy's gone again, i know i could never compete with the road. off for a week, or two, or three, he'll write. so a goodbye dance amongst parasol-flowers, and three hours in bed with his (warmsoftsmooth) skin, scratched jazz, and french toast. lou reed sang us sunday morning, and after hours making love beneath thin ( Read more... )