woman

i am becoming the woman in the next bed
the one who dissects her hands while pulling apart
her lover. yes, the lover is a woman. yes, they have the same
components. it's like two cars colliding. rather than a cat and a car.

the components of the body are said to loosen
with age. i wonder, does an instrument have any place
in this. perhaps i will dig around inside
until all that is useless becomes necessary.

i am becoming the one who disassociates

having seen a play about a floating woman, i know
i am capable of more. there are, of course, times i am present.
i have been seen at various events waiting in line

i have been seen passing out on the floor of a famous theater

do you know i keep my body pure
do you know two women are as clean as anything
movies play again and again in my head
various sex scenes

a man in a wheelchair frequents the adult section of the local
video store. i feel bad feeling bad for him. most of all, i want to go in there
and tell him there is no need for that, i will love his still body
as much as any moving one.

something stops me from joining him behind that curtain of despair
behind the drapery worn with men's hands running over and over
it. i want to be the slipcover on a sofa for once, want to see what goes on
in people's living rooms. i have heard the couple upstairs yelling.
i have felt the weight of her on his lap.

if i were witness to that scene every night,
i would not have to try so hard to live.