Sunday, July 8, 2018

Still

Be still this heart, quiet still-
a breath, a ghost. These are
words
only words. Hands
touchhold (still words, still)
lips
teeth
tongue, yes
words only words-
alchemized.
Deep and deeper still. Taste, yes,

feel. Christ.
Christ or god or stars. Come down, come
down
to dirt, to body, feeltaste
touch. Make this
real, surreal.

Transient,
I know.
No one
gives a fuck out here
beneath the sky and leavesandrain.

Just take
thisnow, make
now
me/my
aching reason to be here,
this hungry
bodysoul.



6.23.18

Accountabliity

Imagine that the hands were the smallest and in the digging
found nothing and so much, too much,
like you- the thickest to dig through, the hardest, the thing that
broke
the things too much. Nothing but broken every where
and it was all
torn apart, so
torn apart. Like you- you too, all tornandbroken
apart. And here I stand surrounded by so much nothing, so many
broken everything that was
ours. I am standing here, a numb child who didn’t fucking mean to,
but still, my dumb hands are empty
and they are covered in dirt.

6.29.18

Free Ride

Just because I can doesn’t mean I
should because I can, you know,
and even if I (yes) wanted to I should
n’t and
the moon (again with the moon) does the thing it
always
does but it’s
so bright, and all the things it touches(me) are fuckingstars. Windows

down I am forever always inthisfast
car, feeling I could be someone be someone be some
one
Some
One: whoareyou and whyareyouhere questions
that don’t matter in this night right now you are
notanything
anyone
nowhere

but here in the fastcar (I brought you and bring you
everywhere.)

6.29.18

2208

If I touch it only in the dark of night
maybe I can say (I lie) that it isn’t real,
that you aren’t (neveralways were) there
and your mouth is not a cavern into which I fall
over and over
because your wordskisses are cottonfuckingcandy dissolve, dissolve
not real
not real, not tangible like flesh, your flesh, not real, not the way I like to touch you
yourfaceyourhair.

You are a moon, a shining moon, way away in the night, far away and out of reach.
I look away, you burn bright, too bright then blind.

My feet like the earthsolid in the sunshine, away from the bright of the moon, or
the moon at midday like a phantom, imagined, it is not real, not real.

The darkness on my skin unwinds in me the serpentheatfleshseeking animal, animal that will
devour.
You don’t know the will in me that tiesbindsrestrains and keeps me from

devouring

yourskin and making youyourbody

mine.


6.14.2018

Breakfast


I cracked the eggs and made the griddle hot
I threw the shells on the floor.

They’re fragile, you know. And they break
upon impact with hard surfaces,
              or hands, like my hands,
imaginary on your imaginary throat.

I once dared a man to swallow a boiled egg whole
and it lodged in his throat.

But he always fucked around, so instead of helping him
              I laughed.
              He lived.
But not without knowing I almost let him die.

The broken shells on the floor punctured my foot and drew blood.
About blood: there is always more.

And when the wounds healed and closed, the shells remained embedded in my skin
and pained me when I walked.
I asked myself- who was imprisoning whom?


10.2017

The Tourists

Write down the name of the first thing you see.

an acorn;
an egg;
a bus full of tourists hanging from a cliff

Think next of why you went on vacation in the first place.

you keep breaking doors when you can’t break through

When you’re dangling from a long yellow jalopy
over the edge of a cliff
I guess it makes sense to run-

to bust through the nearest emergency exit.


10.2017

Permafrost


Drowned in warm water
plump flesh, and supple

Did you know it would be this way?
That we just wouldn’t die?

This is me, shoving tectonic plates in places they don’t belong:
              I make the earth quake
              I throw mountains out of nothing.

This is the way I justify my geological mayhem.
Art is always illusion.

It snows all spring.

What, then, is satisfy?

Your dialogue gets me dizzy.
You can’t move away from the cold once it curls inside you.
You freeze- bones first, flesh later.
You grope toward heat.

What, then, is satisfy to the mouth of a corpse?
We choke on dirt.

We tell lies. We need heat.
We draw water to the bath.

11.2.17