no longer restless,

no longer fresh

or young

Stanzie sinks into the slip-covered recliner

in the corner

children chanting & the bonfire

but it is time to sleep

no bears out tonight

no dead trees

catching embers & sprouting off,

curling shingles on the shell of a guesthouse

mid-century modern hoop skirt lamps

Depression-era glass & brown linoleum

fudge that won't set

Oolong tea

no matter

that the vase is chipped,

the jewels plastic

no matter

that the kiss

an approximation only,

miniature Niagara Falls teacup handle cracked

against the register

no matter

no how

no longer hers,

this place

no longer part of space

how did it happen;

how did she

become air

Stanzie on the rocks

with cream

White Russian Stanzie slick

& clean

preparing to breach the clouds

blast the granite cliffs

to diamonds, plunge

into the clear lake

trip or out, crisp sheets only

blinds pulled near her office couch

some afternoon at three - starting

again, with whiskey

whispers dreams

waterslides that she's designed

too steep too fast

too cold

for an empty hotel

that pure clink

of ice into highball glasses

that pure

heavy-headed stanzie the juggernaut

stole a silver ring from the carnival

what a thought

heavy-lidded stanzie who speaks

to strangers, schizophrenics, in tongues

& monster rhymes

coaxing visions from school boys

rocket toys

sick-saddled stanzie suddenly

stuck, her twisted kidneys * gut

on the beige couch

should she sleep now? should she

stanzie on air

stanzie stares

coughing laughing soaked together

always the white halls

always the thick walls, metal detectors

tripping past her shoes, traveling somewhere

sodden, coated with cow dung

stanzie takes an escalator up to the sky

stanzie why

why

stay still

Heroin

it could have hurt more but not for long

instead there will be hurt mixed with euphoria

& periods of relief but it will go on and on

like a slow weane from heroin

& she will beg for an increase,

accept a decrease grudgingly

sick & sappy through the night

then waking sterile,

out, off, done

stanzie, sweetie,

try to speak

stanzie, honey,

slip to sleep

Footloose & fancy
free Stanzie tried to be,
but try trumps free.
In the halls the stream of faces aged & strange
like boysenberries
hung & bursting, she tried
to pick you out, she tried
but there was no you.

There was no me.

In her first year,
In her second year, the locker stuffed with clothes
In her first year, she alone
In her second year, everyone had decorated
In her first year, black piano
In her second year, she dressed
in bones. A little
like stones.

Nomi. Naomi. Dirty girls are going dancing.

he fears he is losing
again stanzie slipping into the mind
of this: logs to stack but trapped
behind a plastic tray picking bugs
from the sky: where is that man
who had the key? why won't he unlock me?

he pictures you, bright in the morning, slipping
dimly into midnight like a sodden sun

not curious any longer, but driven down
his sweet stanzie strange & long forgotten,
standing in the doorway or her shadow
standing, turning round, another scrap of shrapnel
caught in the cyclone.

My baby, he says I looks good, that is all that matters.

I have a pink scarf from the Sheep Farm.

I was a cute bare-nippled blonde girl once, with pigtails.

I was Bridget Jones.

I lolls about, the bridges.

I talk about trolls.

I wonder what fairy tale next will come, picturing horses.

some white writ somebody

slash please this scared

stop sleep simply starved

bathing, blasted, bombed

encrusted excavated thick

with sin simple and its

opposite - faith not virtue

stanzie slipped sat still

rather dared not stand

motioned to the second hand

decided "it is cold"

decided "I am old"

and rather undeserving

silly simpered Stanzie flushed in the neck rock children on ice most delightful shrimp in laugh-land stockinged ladies at the bar maids tinkling mother & son in hockey helmets tipping their chins

awake, half & screaming recognizable voices warn into her left ear:

Follow. Fire.

she wakes then sinks back into cold sweat sleep epileptic or only crazy only blue-veined blanched ripe

cold though the night describing

fresh though the timers keeping

rather kind, rather familiar

lest she forget lest she speak without clearly deciding lest she let her hand slip & recoil, sudden turn of gaze faceless unnamed longing of shadowed dreams, impossible flow & always to bed in some strange hotel, familiar linens, feathered pillows & mattress pads

lest she forget herself, again

the poppies on the cross are contracting, & the stars.  she must draw someone into something, or be stoned.  there is a battle to be won.

oh she was a ridiculous ball of restlessness wrestling less than she should suddenly grabbing his hand across the transmission clinging out of consciousness while he sighs - oh - so that's what I imagined & dreaded, that difficulty, that complication

this then is how it will end

how will it end - in shivers or flames, her burning stomach & cold limbs waking always minutes before the phone rings

What's precious, Stanzie, what's the whip, what twist upon your sore & sordid neck would make or break or seep into the skin you break, that breaks you, what does it matter what color her hair or shape her calves or length her upper lashes, sick upon you, quick to settle when the light is out, pinned to the bed otherwise, heavy to rise?  Yes, you are probably, yes, you are right, & full & bloated & the night

will pass, some hour the night will recede.  On her lap a picture of the sun, rising in the desert. On her wrist & in the truck the wipers twist knock back rather clear rain & she thinks, I am a small girl, abandoned, a small girl in a big truck left in this back lane & someday I will learn to make things pretty someday I will be pretty someday I will be easily just so

Matthew, James, and John.

She cannot put her finger on.

The thing subsides, she quick derides

& trades the trick for gone.

Stanzie, scary, quite contrary,

how does your garden know

that you see shells and cotton spells

and little ducks all in a row?

Stanzie, fairy, quick and merry,

how does your baby grow

when you won't sleep or even eat

or try not to reap what you sow?

Stanzie was bored, and being bored completed none of her assignments nor did she take the tray into the kitchen again like she was supposed to. It sloshed white wine and mushrooms, porcini and shitake and button, thyme and chicken juices, dangerously near the floor. She stared into the fire, thinking how like a sauna it was, how lovely it was, how she hardly need go outside or travel to the southern hemisphere ever again. She had positioned herself, though, at the lip of the wave, and being born of salt composed of water was pleased enough to drown and not to drown, the thought of it, made her heart sink just a little. No, more than a little. The hours passed by and yet she did not venture

Heartsick, lovesick, sick of love, Shakespeare, poetry, food and wine