Pool Table Felt On the Bloodstained Mattress

Pool Table Felt on the Bloodstained Mattress A quiet giggle It’s not my stomach growling, “feed me.” A young girl who wouldn’t love a millionaire A stereo left on overnight Warmed motor that melts a plastic beer cup Teeth brushed a thousand times A smile passed the darkness when we went to bed What do you think about when we try to go to sleep? A toenail scratches the bed post A cold metal spring A maturing woman who never loved a lawyer Who joked about being a poet A glass of warmed water with a comb soaking in it Specs of dust on books underneath a hanging Spider plant I ask if she’s still awake She mumbles to me to go to sleep A paintless lady with metal breasts And numb fingers, because she sits on them To keep warm A straggling mustache scratches a kissing lip Blue wine, cheese rots away like a heart Cut from a young boy’s stomach Left drying on a piece of oak board I try to keep her green eyelids open With vice grips, with warmer hands With veins she can plainly see in my feet Red snakes crawling out of grass-haired legs A note left on the door: “I couldn’t sleep with you so I went upstairs and Puked into a cardboard barrel.” “It’s not important… I mean if I stay here or not.” A sticker bumped on her door Peeled away like skin of a sunburned shoulder A dream: An oily faced dog humps a bed post. Pieces of grass caught in my teeth I tried to puke my love for you out of my heart A quiet giggle It’s not my stomach growling “goodbye” An older woman, she probably will never have grandchildren An alarm clock winds down A cold plastic lip on my nose Kisses me a thousand times A dream: A smile passed inside of me when I stabbed her neckline With silver A jeweled letter opener. A hot steam Blue vapor when dog blood smothers a toenail And an armpit and a dead crotch and A purple tongue that wouldn’t love me.