spring cleaning

i once asked you
to put your lips on burning paper
though dirt was caked on the envelope's curves
but, unfortunately for me
you don't trust organic

although your skin is withering from lack of
action
passion
doesn't matter
to a statue, i suppose
if you remain in the garden at the getty villa
enclosed by tourists with their numb thoughts, their worse visions
no one will ever make you feel

what once was soft
now is lost
our lush youth padded down with missed connections
my dirty sections
of fingernail litter
the floor like life and its spectators
who rip through my spine
and spill out my throat

materialize, won't you
go, fetch your toolkit and disassemble
every syllable
you find appalling
expose to the light any fleeting lovethumps
but it's so cluttered and dank in here
it's only a matter of-
i mean, no one's seen the bottom in years

uhhhhh
all this shitty poetry
none of it is fooling me
just the syntax of a simple fool
and an even sadder vocabulary

won't you,
please,
just scrub this shit clean

someone has got to


- leyla