the only thing i can think of saying.

call me frenzy tonight- i’m all
fever and rush and
busy hands
and words that won’t come easy
(tired of my abuse, they’re stuck somewhere between
my tongue and my fingers, refusing to move.)

    i’m
lighting cigarettes end to end
and watching them burn, casting
glances like shadows at
my body in the mirror, my face is all
angles
and numbers
and teeth.

    i think i’ll have to tell her the truth-
that she is lovely, like september,
but
       i am always waiting for spring.