for Nicole Eisenman

In jeans by Isabel
Marant in two
Legs that I cross all
By myself I detect

The weird mayonnaise
Of one of my rage
Secretions battening
Down behind my fly

And my head bending
Over the feeling and my
Two arms like dead white arms
On the grid of this

Outstretched page
Thinking of my genius
Friends, my rapes, all
The guilt I feel

Everything that belongs
To me, first of all
My lack of faith, first
Of all my infidelity

To everything I’ve been
Shown. No, first of all
It’s a blossoming, womanly
Feeling in the caves

Of my guts, bright
With lights & soda
Observing Canada
Geese pad across an ice rink

Like old people in bathrobes
Haven’t figured out
How to talk to my father yet
Who here understands English

Still haven’t figured out how to talk to my father