8/14/2014

White Chalk and Scars

The body talks to itself
wound to wound, flesh to scar
clawed deep by

the black-ghost wolf who tears
at the meat of my heart.

Skin or cave, my canvas
flattened cardboard marked
with images rendered so fragile

they decompose
at the speed of quiet .

Here where I thought
terrible darkness was God
and it is

inconceivably brighter
than lightness

where it's not
enough to know what's hidden
is in danger of dissolve,

what lies uncut grows
wildly.

Consider the dead outlined
in smoke, they wear no clothes,
no hats or scarves, naked

bleached and faded
white chalk.

Non-Reactive Properties

This comes from my own life, this
flea hugging its blood-filled host,
the point of nail leading the flat
silver head down into wood;

the seemingly dark empty
space between all that could
but maybe shouldn't

torture or thrill.

There is so much overlap
evil and good, how my faith
enveloped your fear like a plastic
bubble filled with limitless air

which is to say you needed
what I needed and

I willed myself to be satisfied
very much like stones keep
their molecules tight to
their chests, their bodies

so motionless they seem
dead.

8/13/2014

Do Not Spare Me

These are not words but
perfectly oval corpuscles
iridescent (red)

given birth, a map-less tunnel,
accruing weight and matter,

twice the venom to kill
before they are killed.

Beauty is imagination;
the blade of delight

is real.

Let joy, its stubborn edge,
its pearl-coated throat and
winged animal body

find me.




8/10/2014

Act of Forgiveness

The small boy said "it's time to go home"
with an adult serious stride he guided me
down the hall to a door that was warped
by a network of veins coursing

with wine or poison.  "This was the way in"
he turned with a cruel smile, "but now, you
have to cut your way out."

On the other side, the voice of a woman
like the sound of two rivers rushing together
in a storm, somewhat buffering spine-cracking
booms, she whispered "Remember, she too
was once white cloud"

and she cried for me like thunder.

Now the boy, a man, sits quiet beside me
on a park bench feeding pigeons to seed,
his hand swaying methodic like a clock
ticking, his eyes counting each speckled,
gray bird... as if one were missing.

8/04/2014

[Nef-ri-tee-tee]

For crushing Nefertiti
I condemn you to
the wire, oiled wood,
confined to darkness,

your organs stored
in pewter boxes where

demon children keep
their stolen plastic toys.

For shattered bones
your skin to memorize, record
each nerve to burn,

explode like
firecrackers.  Then

a goodbye kiss
for what is left
before it

fractures.

8/03/2014

In Any Direction

How unlikely my heart
to find its bearings
in this dark world,

its shiftings
a rogue wave in
a night's storm,

an uneven swell
for a blinded ear;

small hairs
in the shell's bone

broken.


Mojave Rain

Fine, sweet rain
on dessicated earth.  The juice
of birth, its first breath

passing through
its chiseled, withered
tunnel.

This land is sacred
like afterbirth
drying on

its cord.

Depth and Dimension

It was not my intention
to stay with you;  a grain
of sand or rice would
understand.

A final look back
at jagged-white mountains
a homeland,

the lone wolf understands.

Time is not gravity's pull
but shapes of journey,
the curvature of dream

with its unplanned
arrivals and sudden
departure.

The dead rabbit on
the road, the burrowing
mole, the bird with its hollow
bones and webbed fingers,

the mother of my thorns-

wherever they go,
they go

briefly.

7/23/2014

Surreal Discipline

When you observe
potential becomes.  Before
you see it all things jabberwocky
a state of good and evil.  You must
become a stranger to yourself, this world
to seize it. 



7/22/2014

The Intimacy of Snow

Again, despite the martyrs,
snow stains quickly
in the underworld.

The lover, how strange
the word, like teeth
of the wolf draws
blood 

but like ice breaks
promises.

A holy, wordless avalanche
compresses the bony
ridges of an air-filled
chamber

cracking.

Wax Birds


Something about you flying through
a fire of dream, your complexity
Icarus and the wing gliding
then glowing then silent.

In a sky where connecting, unless
you forget or fall away, a type of duality
birth and dying, blossoming borrowing
of metaphors, clouds, pillows, swords,
above the frenzied city or storm, thrilled,
invisible, no shape
shame or ancestry.

Like flying.

See how immortals fuse their children to feather,
fasten them to eternal joy
while the blind, wax birds
are torched.






 

Impossible Instruction

I know you're in there
somewhere;  your incessant
murmuring, a restless stone
in a deep well.

It's too late to be admonished
or desired.  That skein has
shed.  All prophets eventually

sample the sweetmeat,
the core without
its hard, brown shell,

leave a written critique
taped to the backdoor.

Even I am tired of speaking
in riddles. 

Some Things Appear But Aren't Apparent

Vacuum scrunched
and violently squashed,
held down, transported

face cheeks
pressed to a flat,
iridescent surface

the consistency
of stars

only one eye
can search for
understanding

in its limited
environment.

I have come to
recognize,  science
is noose and

God is the black
hooded executioner

on this side.

Have you ever seen
a face so contorted
with passion

it looks like
anger

or a bird suspended
in such a way
you can't decide

whether its ascending,
floating or falling?



7/20/2014

Reduced

Are we insatiably damaged? 

Nothing tastes like
sugar, water and basil
heated to crystal

or smells like red
wine and beef blood.

New scorched sweet,
same tart, rich soul.

Now I can only advise you:

You should try to get
your organic back.

In a beach house
with a blue door
in silhouette

a blonde boy
with ringlet curls

evaporates

like boiled
whiskey.


Moth Hunters (draft)

A kind of gothic ritual,
plucking night moths.

Desert bats with
ash-white wings like
burnt cathedral windows

glass blown out
of their frames

in seamless arcs of
flight. 

Nearly soundless
their claws cracking
soft backs like

jaws crushing
popcorn...

the moths
their sack-cloth
coats and sad eyes

reflecting
interrupted light

snap like
matches.


7/16/2014

Rears Its Majestic

It's unlikely light would stay
attached to moon if not for
its suspicious nature;

inside each cloud
a core of black,

a pack of wolves.

Every night shadow
performs Shakespeare
reciting damning verse;

fields cling
to sky's dresses like

frightened girls.

What hunts or flies
or runs has no need
for ambiguous inquiry:

who will bury them,
what is their mysterious
duty, to whom should

they pray?

To them Eternity
speaks the language
of wild horses,

rears its majestic,
burning chest

without fear or
hesitation

gallops away.





How Movement is Like Prayer

always the question,
to build straight
or round.

On some level, darkness
meets light, electrons pairing
charge to zero;

in the stable gap between

a tiny, faux
world made of rubber bands
and ink and water

wrapped in sticky
web. 

A subtle movement
somewhere

vibrates the body,
the body attracted-

the sleeping
glittery spider.






7/15/2014

The Cold Follows You

I had the same dream
of a man with a body
made of winter gloves;

he followed me through
half of my childhood
without ever speaking.

Sometimes at night,
the darkness takes the shape
of a great wooly beast

hunting

in a snow storm.

Don't Let Your Gifts Deceive You;

you didn't make this world,
its rare spices, thick sweet
oils, its brief guests

and countless dead.

Pleasure and grief are meant
for those who create them
not for those who discover.

Consider the bed without
its lovers, your muscles,
my bruises, our early

morning prayers.

6/28/2014

Membrane

I have heard
(mysteriously at night)
there are three worlds.

Like a well-constructed
prayer, the task becomes

sequentially moving
through them.

When I am unaware
of the purple flaming iris
in the other room

I am in flux

trapped between touch
and numbing, depthless
darkness;

the way out is
the way in and never
ending.

6/26/2014

Tear Your Garments

Sweet bitter
unmanageable Sappho,
gold ankleboned
poet,

you be my ally.

When you're born
in a family of men,
you inherit the veil.

You disappear
behind it;  you are
strangled by it.

It is the only thing
that lies between
your blood and

your father's
rage.

6/25/2014

Unlike Heaven

We are two spaces;  asymmetrical
forces.  One a mark,
the other erased.

I am God's slave, you
are the abyss;

a stone tower
and its relentless

traitor.

6/23/2014

They Are OverFed

Heathens!  Simplicity
is the purest thing of
this world;

the simplest thing-

wordless, selfless
prayer.

Victim-Makers

and I am only and content
to sleep, prey slagged (and stilled) 
by wolves relief :  (final) sacred duty:
cease.

Forward stalk the royal (crowns & kingdoms)
(red, orange, purple?) thieves who will remove
my glue sutured heart (screams in lieu of beat)
for what purpose-Men?  God with reasons made
for careless instruments their demons:  oceans,
distance, lightless caves, infestations, graves
and pretty siren singers.

Let them swim.

Indeed.  

But what of (mine) conflicted dragons,
primeval victim-makers slash(ing) equal
bone and blood and teeth or dreamer?

Stay.  

6/22/2014

Burning Horses

What was roughly, deeply
hewn and violent

made seamless.

Was it autumn? scent of
burning horses, leather,
shy leaf  fireworks, yellow
textured skies, cold

anemic like pond fish.

Pink, velour twilight?
thick and bleeding shades
of fresh cut salmon,

split open watermelon.

The narrow dirt road?
aluminum windmill,
six-fingered prophet
held together with

barbed wire and
dissolving duct tape.

Beneath its long, steel legs?
deep in miniature apples,
sage green, worm bruised
and bird tongued to

sweet rot.

Or with the field crows?
stiff robotic waddling,
bead-black coma stares

stabbing mud-stained
leftover snow.

Someone found the fear,
however, wherever

they were consumed
by fire-

somewhere, somehow.