November 8, 2016

October poems (2)

10142016 dream

Something that gleams in the hot
bath water, sparks,
and my jerking thighs.

                                      You, falling
           from my lolling tongue and
                               quiet of cooling



I collect masks, laughs
like jittering candles, death
gasps of branches -
a wind brings crystals in the night.

October 1, 2016

September poems (11)


our shadows straggle, lagging
on every brick and twig as
we chase gold down
graying streets


i couldn't say

how bodies gasp
how goosebumps glaze thighs
or how the mind, blind
earthworm, writhes and
crawls for rain
or how the skin explodes -
don't ask me to explain.


September (quiet autumn things)

With autumn, I'm a quiet thing,
the skirt of fog trailing as
engines whine alive. Go find me
among the grinning burs, restless
with some tale of me; in
cyclones of dust; my kiss
on every balmy blade of grass and
blushing leaf.
One day I'll shake the bones out of these trees.
I know that you want more from me.
But today I watch the red sun
between seams of rain clouds, curled
up in some spot of warmth,
a quiet thing with autumn - let me sleep.


do the sweetest thing

love me like a seed a blighted
sun can nourish too; see that
I'll bloom and bloom and 



girlhood's an
egg that binds
flailing baby
limbs. Ladies

emerging all air and
silk feathers, 
remember, remember, 

the grunt blunt in 
you, your hairy back, your
knuckles only sinking
on this soft beach. 



follow the gray path
someday to where the
copper-topped clock 
ticks; sit

on a gargoyle's tongue
once your lungs have
gargled out and

but this moment, like a drop
of rain, runs and runs

down hills and out
past streetlights
and the sun - go there for now. 



Want me, explode me. Splatter my bones
on museum walls. Worship me - 

lips, rosebuds never blooming; eyes, winter
sky diamonds. Never know me, but 
speak of me, dream of me, embalm me

like the "i" in "extraordinary" - a syllable you
swallow to make it work - and call it love. 


last of summer

she straggles in dapples
of sun across cold fields
dragging her feet, waiting
to meet southbound 


I'm a twitch
of rage, a pinch
of anger, puckered
like a volcano, erupting
a moment or two.


periods (ongoing)

bent double, I birth
islands floating
red across the warm
bath water

twisting papaya
threads; a split
and gutted fruit

days like a single moaning
wave pass me, nudging

i swallow an ocean this way, gulp gulp



yellow evening wedging
into the gloom - a lemon slice,
hints of light this heavy
autumn day

September 1, 2016

August poems (5)

autumn came yesterday,
golden dress cloaked.


rose song

Sweet flower,
make diamonds of
how yearning cools
on waiting lips.



let's dig holes through
the days that wait
for us, nest love there
out of time.



you wait for joy like
the moon's gray spots
to fill; galaxies overflow and

spill, child, blossomed
from that dust.


where the river changes

I knew you,
River, you were
a kinder thing -

     what sunless wild tore
     your tongue into
     this spitting froth -

     knotted with your heart,

     what swallowed stone
     made home now
     grates to frantic grit

the song that
held me
gently once?


July 20, 2016

june poems (10)

this hurt
like glass i swallow
shredding my tongue
taking the words


big bang

imagine everything pressed tight-
hot exploding. beautiful;
that's you.


This beautiful sun.
This minute before 7.
Notes of hallelujah spilling from the quiet radio.
This memory of you stirring in my heart.
This love, this ache.


remember how slow
the world used to move every day a
drop of light caught in beads
of oil remember night's laughter black
and gold tumbling through the tall grass remember
how heavy it felt bringing me to you


you, a mirage that
in cracked skin, on
bonedry lips,

i lick myself to taste just
a dream of ran



We lock dead eyes, we
love by chance, lungs
plumped on dust. Above us,
satyrs dance.


the sea betrays its
deepest wish, to dissipate
and kiss the moon's smile.


if i'm a piece of meat

know: you can lick me dry
but the ugly story of your teeth
will be written on my bones.


if my heart is a flower,
it's sick
and never opens to the sun,

only daring to love
the rain on its crinkled skin
promising the sky in every dying dance


I go

beyond the promises of birds,
where time runs like a stream down
summer's endless throat,
remembering the scent of apples
your golden eyes and tight tongue coiled
only like a chill that recedes, here
where waves lick away my melting eyes,
I wait for you.

June 4, 2016

May Poems (8)

Gray May 1st

I wait for May to
burst like a pomegranate seed and
dribble down my lips; today's just
the pith.

in the shower with a thought of you

mist whispering, swirling
against neck; water licking
skin, nibbling; threat
of burning tumbling down
spine; I mere
sigh, melt settling into you.


clouds bumble in, soft
white like marshmallows, hiding
hearts of hot lightning.

what it is (II)

the quiet of a
flower opening and your
gentle eyes that smile.


not in your eyes like dusk
not in your touch like sleep
not in kisses like dreams I gladly drowned in, but
when you left - god

like a star's first waking blink into
nothing, wide-eyed I
drifting cradled in her smile.


bones that swell and pop
lungs that bleed from screaming
palms collecting journeys for another life

before these, your face is the sleeping moon
and I'm enchanted by craters, waiting for your eyes -

i am so hungry

I am so hungry
for the missing bits of me,

the fullness of a belly
unbuttoned. Hungry for poems

I can't read, for how my
tongue can't twist

anymore and all the million words my mother
plucked from pain. Desperate for memory,

I let your evil jungles split my
brain and licked into the cracks,

smacking my lips: hungry
like you almost.


But in the mirror where I go
to swallow myself whole,
my eyes on me are not like yours.

Bless them for what hunger can't take.


this grey morning-
forecast of split skies-
this day that waits, teetering like a boatman in the fog-
I am by the window braiding words to keep thoughts from flying-
tucking worries behind my ear-

April 30, 2016


what madness stung
the hearts of boys,
sick with playing nice,

what thirst pressed heavy
on the bone thrilled them to
break a hundred homes,
cackling in delight?

the bees are dying, boys - what madness
stings the hearts of men?