tuesday in la

In the spiral all the poets talk about but never talk about where it ends

I am becoming increasingly calm 

At the inevitability of where it ends

Somewhere on the florida beaches with my mother I knew in the way 

She let the sand cover her without a thought

I knew in the way she turned vicious whenever

She thought about anything else 

I know it is only a matter of time before I turn vicious

And because I don’t have my mother’s grace

And because I do have my father’s rage

I won’t let the sand cover me without a thought

I know I’ll think about it just like I think about all of the things

I let cover and wash over me 

In agonizing, smothering detail

In the specks of the rinds of the lemons I slice for the vodka drinks 

My parents taught me to make when I still thought they must taste good

I can see where it ends 

In the pen stains on my father’s button down that he hasn’t had a need for

Since maybe before I really started looking

I can see where it ends

In the dirty mirror in my dealer’s car outside of my dirty apartment, stained with 

Rain that happened once 10 months ago

I can see where it ends

In the way some of their eyes burn for too long on nights when I look

Maybe too much like I want to feel

I let them cover me head to toe

I let them ask me the same questions

And I see where it ends

In that little blue necklace given to me out of desperation

That I locked away in my work desk, also out of desperation,

And left to rot and rust and turn vicious

That I left neglected in the hopes it would

Just stop existing

I see the devastation of good things everywhere

And I can see where it ends

In the pile of dead orchids given to me out of guilt

That I had tried so hard to nurture out of desperation

And met their end anyway and turned anemic and weak 

Just like I did 

That I tended to everyday in the hopes I could

Keep them alive

I clutched to each orchid and thought that maybe

I could keep this one alive

And the petals would glow white forever

Erasing all the bad, and all the good, that we had done

But there it is on top of the others

Shriveled and pushed to the corner

And I can see where it ends