i brought the blue up from where it sleeps--
i wrapped the deep bleed around my hands and swung it.
this is my heart,
a little flag in the wind.
this is what i do when i turn loose the words--
out of my way, motherfuckers.
i know how to make love to the words,
the words i drew out of the sharp edge.
they loved me.
for twenty minutes,
i lured them inside my oanga bag.
after, they say
damn, girl, damn.
some of them say
do you do a lot of good drugs?
i'm cleaner than a bible salesman's virgin daughter,
but i feel everything seventy times seven.
every woman who ever ran her teeth across my heart
helped me write this shit you see before you now.
baby, i'm not crazy,
nor stoned nor privy to the whispers of the next world--
Isadora Gruye challenged us to share our old standby break-up song, the one we curl up on the floor in the dark with when things go bad. Mine is "Inconsolable" by Jonatha Brooke, here sung by a woman named Lena whose version I like even better than Jonatha Brooke's own. I have riffed on the line "baby I'm not crazy, just inconsolable." Izy wanted us to take it in a new direction. I've tried. If this ain't good enough, girl, kiss my happy ass.