Supposed to write
a poem about San Francisco
but I've never been there
determined to research it
but came out essentially
hopeless
Levi Strauss
The Gold Rush
Haight-Ashbury and all those fucking hippies
Spanish influence
It all feels so unfamiliar
I feel like less of a writer than before.
Write what you know
But I don't know anything
All I know is your face is blank
And I am marking all the questions
in with thick knuckled fingers,
trying to make sense of your temperament
Not sure if I should leave Queens
If you want me to shut the fuck up
If you want me at all
Who am I to you
but a girl you said you loved yesterday
Today could be different
It's your 31st birthday and my debit card got declined
And I feel like a piece of shit
Try to make some dumb face
that used to make you laugh
but forced laughter is worse anyway
I'd rather get punched in the teeth
Pour maple syrup red sludge from my mouth and nose
all over my white shirt
To tell you how bad it feels to be me
when you won't look at me,
look up from your coffee
look up at me on the train
back home to your apartment
where you'll fall right to sleep
Curled up like a Cupie doll
And I will stare at you,
feel so ashamed,
love you with every strand
of my fake ass hair
every fiber of my gums
every iota of my pupils
and what's inside my chest
love you so thoroughly I'd
Take whatever shit you threw my way
but you don't know
how I feel
You don't know
'cause you didn't ask
and I didn't say
and I didn't push your lips
into mine to make you see
the fractures and femors
behind my face
Write what you know
But I don't know anything
All I can see is
You're my real birthday present
a week late
wish I could be yours
wish I could pull all the poison out from
the lining of my cheeks like a snake
gut out the ducts with a paring knife
be the perfect stuffed cat,
the perfect 10 and a half you deserve
But I am painfully human and you'll have to understand
that my oversights slap me every time they meet your glance
If I could I'd be Cheetora for you
or any kind of cat you wanted,
curl up at your feet and purr like
an explosive attack,
Thundercats Ho! (for you)
Do whatever you want me to
If I could be a size 2
I'd let you wear me
black and blue,
I'd let you rearrange my
anatomy
make me flush with your
body
lay on top of you like a feather
San Francisco is far away
and I've got phone bills
and debt
and the electricity's
out at my house
and I can't bear to think
of how far it'd be by plane,
how my ears would pop
and my head would ring,
there's not enough jokes to get me through that
not enough songs to sing
and all I've got there is one cousin
and a friend of a friend
and all of this just makes me feel more
alone
I've ever been
Write what you know
But I don't know anything
Trying to write a poem about San Francisco
And all I can think of is your face
glows like shooting stars
electrical tape
bold in my psyche
Hands that feel faultless around my waist
Hands that feel like they were meant to be there
(But never were before)
I adore you
It's your 31st birthday and you're sound asleep
While I watch you
While I love you
From 10 feet away.
Zoe Alexandra is a twenty-three old writer from New York City. Her writing has appeared in various online and print publications including Best Lesbian Erotica 2007 (Cleis Press), My Time – Lunch Book (Poet Plant Press), Zygote in My Coffee, Deconstruction Quarterly, Silenced Press, Mad Swirl, The Common-Line Project, Indite Circle, Remark, Erotic Writers & Readers Association, Thieves Jargon, Sisters of the Page, Instant Pussy, Word Riot and The Cerebral Catalyst. Future work will appear in Debris a print issue of Zygote in My Coffee and Best Erotica 2007 (Arnoldo Mondadori Editore- Milan Italy). She is currently at work on a chapbook with Scintillating Publications entitled, "Cock Shy". www.myspace.com/zoe_tang
