in dreams, the passing of trains. &i
realize i forgot what it was to fuck
with open windows. frustration melts like rocks
in the glass (like
irides in sun-
light, like hope in wet basements), leaves
a bitter fragility in the dregs.
the hours drip. suddenly,
it's two in the morning and silent, you
seeing my face with your fingers, i
flushing your secrets
with my skin. the nextday's dawn comes
drawn with shards in both eyes:
always end with a jab to the left.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________Joanna Suzanne Lee has never been formally trained in any kind of writing, thank you very much. She can, however, dissect the brainstem of a neonatal mouse or diagnose your lower back pain. Her first full-length book of poetry, the somersaults I did as I fell, was released in January of 2009. Her work has recently appeared in Right Hand Pointing, Contemporary American Voices and scissors and spackle, among others. She writes (semi-)regularly at http://the-tenth-muse.com.