My Father Entering Me

Most successful poems
are about the ocean,
but he stands
between me and the sea
a huge, invisible shadow
that chills

And make me turn back
without thinking
zipping up my jacket
and kicking a coke can
as if it were my own idea,
As if I had a choice.

Everything all at once again

Neon. (again)
low riders to suicide to orgasm to manicures with sunflowers to biting and kissing to L'Oreal Blond number 9A
to double piercing my left ear to being in love with Vick to how cute the grey kittens to being in love with Rick to what kind of beer feels best for puking to the shine on the knife that night to bruises from the sidewalk to which green for my eyes to much ado too much
too much

Grammar

What is this thing called protocol?
What is the protocol for things.
These things have taken over.
They mill about
behind my back
and freeze
when I re-enter the room.

This fork, chair and
Nintendo game whisper
when the light is out,
catalyze strange chemical
reactions that result
in time lapses,
dream-like waking states,
and phone calls at 3am.

At the other end
there is only static.
Always at the end,
static.

The Wig

Once it's on,
its tentacles are in you
forever.

You must wear it neatly
every day.

No use pretending,
as with the myth of parental love
that we can just forget about
yesterday,
the blood,
that spasm and fist.

With the wig,
once they see the real you,
it can never be the same.