11 February 2009

paula ray

Wicked Vow

I feel you pace
atop my marriage coffin
where I have been buried alive
with too much dirt between us

I will gnaw my way
to your feet
and wait for you
to reach for me

if only once

Tile Labyrinth

"Knocking on Heaven's Door"
is on repeat
I sit here--head bowed,
lips move in unison with Bob Dylan
take this badge from me, I pray.

don't want to see myself
curled in a corner,
unwashed hair,
fingernail polish half worn off
from clawing at that door.

All these chairs in the house sit empty.
My ass is plastered to the tile,
bruised knees--heart level.

I smell like stale cigarettes and beer
and seem to be melting into the grout,
imagining the kitchen floor is a maze,
a puzzle to solve.

I can do it myself!
Christ, I wish I did drugs
or enjoyed being drunk.

I'm too fucking sober.

Road Kill Lap-Dance

She had that long-legged-jukebox-lean,
He had that heroin-don't-care-stare.
They were grizzly in the sheets
too tangled to breathe through smog of deceit.

Flickering neon dripped chaos on
mirrored lines--underlining lies.

He spat her out:
chewed-up--bubble gum,
tasteless pink.

laid limp
on the bottom of a bottle from Mexico.

He was: genius,
cooling boiling cerebral cortex on ice,
brain stem: a swizzle stick
with cellophane decoration--
not good for much, but party favors.

She ran out of quarters and the magic fingers stopped.

That's what happens at feeding time
down at the Purple Possum,
where road-kill's sexy,
if you have the guts to look it in the eye,
as you press the accelerator.

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