my wrists
		----------------------------------------------------------

		i'd never slit _my_ wrists.  i love them so. 
		they are precious.  i cannot abide to wear a watch

		or anything

		on my wrists for very long.  they say near-death
		experience but i say need for running water on my hands
		day and night and if not that, air and sightlines.

		inpatient hospital band was a mark of distinction
		as was the 2nd floor outpatient surgery/cardiac recovery
		doubling it up after the liver biopsy
		and that outpatient robe they gave me -- made in cincinnati
		of imported 100% cotton -- kinglike in fine terry -- edged
		in a trim of carolina blue -- you know -- that puke baby
		blue?  great robe...  of course left it behind... not mine

		...had no choice, but to wear those transparent cuffs...

		wrists are sexy.  my name, in sign language, i made this
		up myself, is bunched 4 up nails lightly across one wrist
		then
		the same sign from the other hand against the first one.
		windshield wiper-like -- clearing the view -- with regrets
		without regrets

		arc-arc.  second-second.  minute-minute.  here we go
		meet up with another poem, a one with dawn.  waterlove
		darkly with peaches on your her tongue.  where you now dawn.

		so.  no slashing.  no suicide.
		besides -- you only make a mess
		that way.

		tell your wristyfriend to cut at her pretty neck
		if she is ever serious and in need.


			Marek Lugowski
			4 March 1998
			Chicago, Illinois