A Taste of Me

Sometimes I hook my thumbs 

Under my eyelids and flip out 

My eyes to dunk them in water 

Like tea, to drink up what I see 

The blue tea tastes of tears 

Like childhood first-aid 

Like father-less afternoons 

Like cherries too ripe for a pie 

And I take my tear tea 

And spill it in rivulets 

In the white-cubed tray 

To freeze, for my children to taste

A Crack in the Dam

I hear it start to split
that crack in the dam
and I'm sure that the
trickle will so begin to flow

but before I go, watching and
waiting and anticipating, I want
you to know that I imagined you
being pulled from underneath

being pulled from atop the
silkened surface like a scarf
on the furnace - whooosh -
the suck will push and pull

you down and then out,
your body flying from the
sideways waterfall that sprays
out of the grey concrete

and there, with thousands of
gallons of water, I see you
flung by God's watergun
out of the crack and into

the verdant valley below,
you go, where no one
will ever hear you scream.
and I smile.