Unguis

Salty moss falls from my eyes

its painful exodus tracks through

my skin, leaving grooves of disease.

I'll take out my claws; clean out the crud.

(Then all They will see is colored confetti.)

What's this shit under my nails black as mud?

What's this fragrant smell?

Am I alone? Is this hell?

Forgotten party and oozing orbs, I'm looking

for my friend, my razor, my savior.

With knuckles bruised and caked with

ebony liquor I'll dig and dig

looking for purchase, the surface,

Me, Myself, and I.

Are these rickets I see? Is this Me?

Have I known?

Bony knees and broken feet, I've

been hobbled, reduced, and manured.

Digging in my sink, it's Botox I seek

or a prescription blow torch.

My lips a bruised and lurid blue,

a delicate heart shape pulled apart.

Who is that in the mirror?

Who is she? (Who me?)

Am I asleep or dreaming?

She doesn't recognize me or I her,

following me in and out of

the mirrors I hold in my hands.

One I use for looking, one for cutting

into these domestic doldrums.

A place to play is what I need.

An escape with the girl of my dreams;

to scare away the ghost-

See her? She's watching me.