Patrtick Lawler

 

e(motion)-mail

I've kept my darkness from you,
but now it's back.

My father is
a bee in a brothel.
                                I stumble
in a gold factory,

in a flower factory,

in a pill factory.

My mother is a spider.

She wears her body
like a derby hat.
Her legs like scribbles.

I write in black ink
in the black pages of my diary.

               Aha, I say.

A spoor of fear.
The bureaucracy
of bees. The spider
buoyant
in its stringy
heaven.

I am a hermit again.

Tear this beautiful, bright
web out of my gut.
Lick this gold honey
from my fingers.
           
            Oh, Baby,
it's like living inside a fire
except there is no light.