11/09/2014

Innocence Turned Dry, Violent

Nothing matters but how
the words fasten themselves
not to paper but

the sweet child's
heart

spills into
young, empty,
beautifully-crafted

skulls or hand-carved
wooden boats

set sail on
first voyages.

Years later, land
found, settled in
high desert,

sun-parched dry
and wisened,

bowls filled
with thistle and sand

where disturbing, dangerous
creatures slither and travel

sideways-

Love's poisoned tail
held stiff and aimed

defends itself
always

from its own
happiness.


11/02/2014

The Body Creates its Own Infection

She was bottomless,
inverted matter, bluish obtuse
where nothingness prayed
to be a solid thing

like hand shadow puppets
depend on brightness to tell their
interesting, unpredictable stories

like snakes released in
gravity-free space cling to
their own twisted bodies

as anchors.

The rhythmic rocking
back and forth re-visiting
the womb, the grave;

the body ticking

like chinese torture,
bloating like an anaerobic,
bacterial wound

just below
the surface.