In a Friday

Trying not to let go of it

I lay down on the altar


If I could wake up

From this dream

Not eat today

Not feed the cats

Not go to Lowe’s

I thought I might give

Birth to a calla


Friday Friday Friday

My heart cried

Holding on like a cat

To a string of sun


I lay Friday down

Brush her hair

Hold her purring in my arms

Still she dies

The week dies

The year dies

And I lay reading


Bolt up from the striped day bed

Doctors shout from the other room

It’s going to be a calla!

But it’s not mine

It has your nose your eyes






I woke up in tokyo

The sun white as an egg


Outside my window in the tree

My ancestor warmed my egg


His white robes fluttering


I opened the paper door

And left the hotel


When I passed he dropped


Yen in clean bills

All around my head


I stopped and neatly placed them

In my wallet thinking

What a wonderful dream


I had lined my eyes with black

Filled my mouth with red


Like a monk putting on his saffron robes

I slipped into the mask of a woman


Walking down a stone path

I met someone who looked like me


This happens in asia

I smiled wryly and carried on


Shopping I lost my wallet

In one of the alleys


Unable to buy anything all pleasure lost

I returned to my hotel


In the mirror there was another mirror

In which there was another hotel


The kind someone howls and thuds against

The kind of hotel you go to die


In this mirror I watched myself

Dance naked

My black hair flowing to my ankles


Wet black fur glistening like a dream

That cannot forget itself


Thin and weak as seafoam



Soon three more women joined in

Black hair black eyes red mouths

Naked I had lost my identity


I could not spot the one for whom

I bought

Candles chet baker and little blue and white dishes


We ate each other up

In a race to exist


Chewing I looked up and saw everyone

Was watching

Everyone was there


Dressing hastily I pulled shut

the paper door

But still


Everyone was there

Everyone was watching