Re-write of Drive (orig. post below)

Steer, Wheel

Mom.



   /stop the car/



   you said and I



   pulled to the side I was



   driving instead of you I was 12.

.







   You told my brother to get out



   get out he said no sat still



   for the first time gripped the car



   seat as if his knuckles could grow



   roots.

.









It was the red car it was



   the one I flipped down a hill later



     that year.

.









David my brother.



      Mom turned to you from the 



      backseat her face red her hair



      distraught and you laughed



                               again.

.









How could you stop?



          How could any of us,



                             stop?

I'm still trying to come up with a good "homewrecker" poem to submit to the anthology she's putting together. For details go to
Daphne's site.

Oh, and I finally got something accepted at Exquisite Corpse! At first I thought they had made a mistake, since I received a rejection from Andre about a month ago. But they just accepted another piece I submitted last year. Which I totally forgot about.

Here's another shot -- comments please!

Forensic Adultery

It doesn’t matter:
you’re mine you can’t leave
I have your skin --
flaked cells, nail parings
snot surreptiously wiped
hair, ear wax, salvia, semen

in this bed we shared the same mites
our hemoglobin has met and linked hands
I licked your cheek after the razor cut

I’ve never cleaned our sheets blankets towels handiwipes tissues dirty dishes
your vanilla/ganja scent’s in the walls
clings to my hair
under my fingernails
I’ve never washed you’re still here

I can build another you in your absence
(of your absence)
you can’t leave me
I’m telling you
I have you
I have all of you
right here

the fibers don’t lie.

Drive

/stop the car/
you said and I
pulled to the side I was
driving instead of you even
though I was 12.

You told my brother to get out
get out and he said no sat still
for the first time gripped the car
seat as if his knuckles could grow
roots.

It was the red car or perhaps it was
the blue one I rolled down a hill later
that year.

Mom turned to you her face red her hair
helpless and distraught and you laughed
again.

How could you stop?
How could any of us,
stop?

To Madame X at my lunch table


You sit across from me.
Everything new is hard but
your face is soft and quiet your smile
constantly erasing itself.

Crack us open
you'll find the same violet grub.

I too have problems with my eyes
with letting people see them.
I fear being read.
You fear being heard.

I know just how you feel, you
with the wilting lily in your hair.
You're afraid the party's over
or that it's just started, and everybody
but you is in costume.

You want to live on air forget sleep
forget the hollow place in the bed
beside you forget the dark blue
of your blood when you are slicing
onions accidentally.

You want the grime in the street to stop
calling to you the one-legged man
laying on Avenue A
to stop shouting your name.

You look at a bridge and see a series
of "x"s not and not and not and
you don't like soda bread or raisins or wine.
You want to go to India but your feet will get
dirty.

You don't sleep because your
dreams crab at you.
Get that lizard out of here!
your mother screams
the milk spoiling and your
mouth filling with feathers.

Hold my hand. I've been there.
Here's how it goes:

Spit. Take a deep breath.
Let yourself slip under.
Red and lime-green climb
down your eyelashes and leopards
the size of houses sleep. When they bite

you taste candy.