I don’t believe
in mermaids. But
I know some
would rather swim
than run, float
than fly, dive
than dig. I don’t wish
to be one—just want
to imagine you
dreaming about me
with a long shimmering tail.
siren
Been Half a Year
without jumping through smoke
rings to find a trap
door you hint may lead
to solace. I imagine dropping
into a room filled with easy
breathing naked apes. I like my air
not so conditioned, like
to check those back
burners to ensure the pilot
light hasn’t died
with a summer breeze
that got too big
to ignore. Dizzy with oxygen,
I remember that boy who smashed
his fist through a glass pane
in our French door—so desperate
to escape 1969 bedroom
community ennui. One bloody wrist, a siren,
and that blue
cold stillness in his eyes. Now I could
just laugh
at these green candles
someone might ignite
if they want to.
Joseph
I understand how it is
to become mesmerized
by a sea
siren. I’ve had my own
Ondine. I’ve wanted
to destroy immortality with my mouth
and hands. Had my own Rose
too—have followed the unraveling
of all tapestry
in motion. It’s a disturbed drive
to erase all plot
to revel in what remains—a face
framed just for me.