junebug/tough luck, touch love.

Their birds chirp and scratch like chickens or hens
on the front porches’ concrete

With nothing to eat

You stare at a TV
which is currently
issuing no audio
and minimal
snow-like
visuals

Popped pills, skipped or lost meals,
the suspects and the usuals love
to come but hate leaving

You cut the rug by yourself
in a hot house,

A junebug flutters against
this window pane
someplace
scurries
a mouse

Your heart trembles; splinters, tremors,
as if teeth are falling out of a mouth,
doubt, and the start of immense,
intense pain

Pain! Pain! Pain!

We are waiting for some sun, some rain
to dry up and/or wash away

This sick taste in our veins

Like rubber cement licorice
or semen as a condiment

Then we sit and wait for it,
wait for it...wait for it....

It is true: I am a sad, sad, woman who can't
seem to forget or commit to anything except
for lack of commitment

Close your eyes, open
thighs and listen,

Listen! Listen! Listen!

Are you hearing this shit?

Shit.