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from Quatrains: Second Hundred

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107

I have always been the way I am
even when I wasn't the way I am
and none can ever know the way I am
because I am not merely the way I am

122

Him or someone else, what's it to me
if every time I'm lonely afterward?
Alone here with my moribility . . .
if there only were such a lovely word . . .

124

These hemorrhoids, this bleeding from behind . . .
I'm spilling out of all my holes—yes, all.
My ass is wrecked . . . (My speech is so refined . . .)
There ought to be a plumber I could call.

154

You want to die with me, you dumb shit?
Excavate my heart with your shovel?
This is getting to be a hell of a habit.
Want me to swear on my knees? Grovel?


Source: Poetry (December 2007)

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This poem originally appeared in the December 2007 issue of Poetry magazine

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from Quatrains: Second Hundred

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