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Me in Paradise
Oh, to be ready for it, unfucked, ever-fucked.
To have only one critical eye that never
divides a flaw from its lesson.
To play without shame.
To be a womanwho feels only the pleasure of being used and who reanimates the user’s anguished release in a land for the future to relish, to buy new tights for, to parade in fishboats.
To scare up hope without fear of hope, not holding the hole, I will catch the superbullet in my throatand feel its astounding force with admiration.
Absorbing its kind of glory.
I must be someonewith very short arms to have lost you, to be checking the windows of the pawnshop renting space in my head,which pounds with all the clarity of a policeman on my southernmost door.
To wish and not jinx it.
To wish and not fish for it.
To wish and forget it.
To ratchet myself up with hot liquid
and find a true surprise.
Prowling the living room for the lightning,
just one more shock, to bring my slow purity back.
To miss you without being so damn cold all the time.
To hold you without dying otherwise.
To die without losing death as an alternative.To explode with flesh, without collapse.
To feel sick in my skeleton, in all the serious
confetti of my cells, and know why.
Loving you has made me so scandalously
beautiful.
To give myself to everyone but you.
To luck out of you.
To make any other mistake.
