My Fault


He could have tripped on a single cleat

Left Cinderellean at the top of the stairs

The bones in the neck plunder and break under sudden stress.

Or he could have breathed in a poisonous dream

From the hookah pipe a roommate sucked

like a boob or a losing basketball team, a suffocation

in lavender elysium.

He could have slit his eyelids

to tatters passing through a window

Shattered because it refused to open.

He could have pooled in a lake on the brick

patio where mourning doves exalt the pretty flowers

He could have been burritoed by a sterile-fingered spider

And rolled onto an ambulance and taken away

To have his blood sucked, like

an unachieved caterpillar, like

a woman.

He could have been jilted a million ways

from life: Bullets, earthquakes, neckties, knives,

fugu fish, a sacrifice to the ozone’s yawn,

a slippery poolside, an irukandji’s spear, a silence on his wall,

a shark risen velvet from a dream I didn’t mean

to destroy him; he preferred the word

shatter. Alternatively, he could be totally fine

Alive and well and eyes tripping over this poem

Breath intertwining in giggled knots, hysterical laughter

Like thunder, crutching my stupid fears

for his imagined delicacy,

doubled over in hilarity

until he drowns in the absurdity.


Image credits in order of appearance:

Figure 41from An. A. fol. 10? General Collections Keywords: da Vinci, Leonardo; McMurrich, James Playfair; anatomy in art; anatomy-history

By EL Caballero – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0,


2 thoughts on “My Fault

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s