i'm waiting for her 

the waiting
room furniture is migratory--
a flock of it's own--
following me from
psychologist to
doctor to the 
quest diagnostics 
where i wait
for them to take
me apart by vials--
what do you see in
my carmine veins--
i rust over like
the rail road tracks
down by the foundry 
from lack of use--
balance on my
own wrists & you held 
my hand in the slick
summer & we were fourteen
& just beginning 
to discover infinity 
in an afternoon--
i'm here to follow
the tracks in the dirt
left my leather sofas
& stoic-backed chairs
with their pinched noses--
lamps with trailing two-pronged
cables-- 
the real illusion 
is the we have time 
to waste-- as if time
were something to
be held rather than
balanced on--
hold me steady or i'll
fall & scrape open
me knees & my rust
will gush out
like paper weights--
weigh me down
gravity-- weigh
me down-- my pockets
are full of
clock hands & loud
digital numbers
i harvest from my father's
alarm next to the 
slouching bunk bed 
that is also a piece
of waiting room 
furniture-- 
will you take
this time to sleep?
will you remember
one line of a poem--
run it over & over
again in your head until
it disappears nameless
beneath your
tongue-- here time
dissolves in the bright
smiles of magazine
covers-- in the obscurity 
of office paintings--
covered bridges--
walk through one with
me-- i'll show
you how well i've learned to
balance--
this is how
we find the leather
couches-- their 
stubby legs leaving
punctures in the dirt--
what kind of dull
pain do you feel in
your chest when you 
realize you have
let the night
walk all over you?
you have let dusk
bruise your shins
with it's heavy heavy
boots-- did you
sky remind you of
your father?
did you finch--
did you recoil--
did you bend the
railroad tracks
like a constrictor
tightening-- leave
knots in the clock
arms-- leave promises
in the cushions of
the chairs--
who are you waiting
for? i'm waiting 
for her to be done--
from them to 
draw out all of her
blood vial by vial
until she is better--
until she is 
younger than fourtee
before she rusted 
& before she ate 
onion grass out
of curiosity--
we are a nomadic people--
don't believe
them when they tell
you to stop
wasting time-- look
don't you see it?
it beams like a 
rust-mouthed tea kettle--
steam-- the afternoon
is as long as it wants
to be & when the 
waiting room furniture
roams-- 
i unplug my iphone
charger
& follow-- 
be home before dark 
they say--
what do you think they'll
find in my blood?
a pile of thumb tacks?
your unwanted touches?
the snakes of
your shoe laces?
let me trip--
i want to be unsteady--
spill myself--
carbonated & dizzy--
i cast out with
my fishing rod--
snag the horizon line--
shut the eyelid of
the day-- 
time is not so much
a penny as 
the sound of 
change dropped 
on the tile floor--
if my body agrees 
tonight i'll sleep
in a painting--
one with a sun that
doesn't budge--
i'll hide under the barn
with the tails of
a thousand cats--
i'll hear them call my
name from outside
the wooden frame--
i'm waiting for her--
she's getting better