hurtface (after Ceravolo)

i come home late like a man

like a stranger // zebra-headed & foreign & sit 

down at the table to write poems cos i want to

put my key in the door & keen 

& cry for my flat old places

fall asleep on the keyboard 

& reblog the universe fuck 

with my long sad dick every last utensil 

  put on whiskey & strip

in the garden, have an irksome & scritchy

fight with next door’s pets // eat & vom the flowers

flowering on my face the face of 

        my stupidness today

listen:

i sing when i work & i work all the time

with lovely wifi & a sharp clean sharpie

& my big girl knickers all in a twist

around my throat.  i have drawn you

a face to wear & it is my face & it hurts

me.  but whatever comes you’ve come 

           thru the door & in your own 

face with your job & a bag of food –

o bum!  o joy!  o bloated world!

what dreams i am on the stairs of!

Joseph Ceravolo

Grace Lake, from 'Silk & Wild Tulips'

"I read of women who have been found disregarding class, the heavy book
Bearing the sombre tone, we anyway tremble whilst we are broken down.
What is love? o what is love? the tip of a tongue, a silk white dove.
that will not fight and is crushed by speculation, a sinful breast
Cleansed, the surprising lightness in weight, the emphasis returned to
Provocation, that is the dead weight, that we cannot speak until
                                                         spoken to
And divided by omission are invited to attend to the traffic signals,
                                                         obsessively
Indicating slips don't for one second imagine that i am in the least
                                                         oppressed."

Grace Lake, 'Silk & Wild Tulips'