Eileen Myles

THE SADNESS OF LEAVING 

Everything’s
   so far away—
my jacket’s
   over there. I’m terrified
      to go & you
won’t miss me
      I’m terrified by the
bright blues of
         the subway
      other days I’m
        so happy &
prepared to believe
      that everyone walking
down the street is
         someone I know.
The oldness of Macy’s
      impresses me. The
      wooden escalators
              as you get
higher up to the furniture,
     credit, lampshades—
      You shopped here
        as a kid. Oh,
    you deserve me! In
      a movie called
        Close Up—once in
a while the wiggly
bars, notice
    the wiggly blue
      bars of
        subway entrances,
the grainy beauty,
    the smudge. I won’t
kill myself today. It’s
    too beautiful. My heart
      breaking down 23rd
  St. To share this
     with you, the
     sweetness of the
           frame. My body
     in perfect shape
       for nothing but
         death. I want
    to show you this.
          On St. Mark’s Place
             a madman screams:
    my footsteps, the
        drumbeats of Armageddon.
          Oh yes bring me
          closer to you Lord.
    I want to die
          Close Up. A handful
    of bouncing yellow
          tulips for David.     I
        admit I love tulips
             because they
          die so beautifully.
                                        I
        see salvation in
  their hanging heads.
A beautiful exit. How do
        they get to
              feel so free? I am
        trapped by love—
               over french fries
          my eyes wander to
               The Hue Bar. A blue
          sign. Across the
      life. On my way to
         making a point,
              to making
               logic, to not
      falling in love to-
                night and
          let my pain remain
          unwrapped—to push
the machine—Paul’s
      staying in touch, but
  oh remember Jessica
      Lange, she looked so
               beautiful all
           doped up, on her
      way to meet King
        Kong. I sit
     on my little red
         couch in February
     how do they get
          to feel so free
 1,000,000 women
          not me moving through
the street tonight
   of this filmy
     city & I
       crown myself
     again & again
         and there
      can’t be
         two kings.