tennessee williams: a tribute

i haven't been myself gracefully,
not for a while.
and in another joke dream
last night, i was buried underground.
i felt my mother's pain in my body

illuminated like a pocket compass in my hand,
and used it to triangulate my way back
through the cracks i slipped through once.
when i woke up i knew that it was the truth,
i have my mothers hands.

i'm saying this because i want to to feel you lying next to me.

like i did the morning after it snowed, you
too shy to change in front of me
and caught. invisible swirling eddies
pulling it out of you.
i know you have nothing.

there is a thin line that separates any of us.
i tell myself stories that go something like this one here.
i watch you because i can't always see myself.

in your livingroom yesterday,
before you noticed me outside i saw you pacing
possessed. walking on the surface of the earth
projected. i know that
sometimes i have made you up.
i could not look away.

i know you have nothing and
i don't want your nothing.
i want you all to yourself.
all bright in the sun with your cowboy hat
and your country stretched out alone.
crying out.
pacing up and down a dry river bed
sweaty and panting and scared.
i want to watch you bootstrap stitch yourself a map back home
one unsure step at a time.

i want to hear you howling for real.
so loud it shatters glass.
and in the pieces that i have made up,
i don't want to feel alone anymore.