She Plays The Vacuum Poem by John Courtney

greyhound spine
transported old soul coal
for a triple rhyme score in Scrabble,
up too late again breathing broke down
fumes of the cinnamon sugar mind,
coffeeheart, spinach lungs, seaweed tongues,
doubtful jellybird with contaminated eyes
floating innocently accusing me of stealing
my macaroni recipe from a celebrity,
former egg white state champion
makes it hard to understand
how blood gets pressured
out of the window womb
is all I'm trying not to say
so she's been seeing
Doctor Voices
slitting her wrists
with potato chips
then threatening to jump
into the cotton candy
as ants dig holes
to hide her forever
I die to relax
behind our talented backs
facing whisky risky whisky
arguing about what doesn't count,
needing no more letters to win,
but an angelfish still cries,
a truck driver still screams
and foreign violence leaves only
domestic silence in the trees
and in sealed fifths of Jameson
one weekday summer afternoon
I stand shipwrecked at the foot
of a shopping mall directory
that used to help me
tell me where I am.