Sunday, December 21, 2008

Hero'ess

Emily! Sylvia! Save me from this torment. 
You have made it into art that I allow
myself to sleep the days away, rocking
in a chair and thinking deeply about
words. 

A stack of cards sits beside me, unsent
to my females that came before, sleeping
pills and wild nights, a funeral pyre in the oven, both ill-requited
loves(d); with ink and pen they wrote themselves into existence.  

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Paralyzed Parade

Oh! Loneliness! I share your tea cup. 
For parading today are last loves, see
them puff up in the street light
and we watch from our 
window, gently stirring in
the sugar sorrow, forgiveness and
the love still left ungiven.
And now He comes to our cross-section,
mid avenue. 
His bulging eyes almost 
unrecognizable, the arms
of air unable for warmth. His lips
unwilling. 

Friday, December 19, 2008

December Nineteenth

I lay restrained in what by law, is
my childhood bed. My mother, wrapping
the gifts, intermittent tape scratches. 

Pillows without cases, wrapped
in plastic now so that they sing
when my face rubs against it
in the dark. 

My beloved there in the trees.
The leaves bearing herself, now. 
Branch. Go. Limb. Dont. 
His toes knowing just the nook
to hold to, his footsies clinging to each
natural wooden step. 

Friday, December 12, 2008

Morning Mistress Wakes You

I've run a crystal dagger dagger
through the lungs of your 
loving body. But I have barely missed
your Heart. I feel it pumping
                .                 . Feeding your 
extremities the blue they need most. 

A while ago, when I shaded
my Heart from Truth, I
could live, halfway,
eating and drinking only at dusk. 

Now I am unshrouded 
and have let your breathlessness
fully enter and uncover our shared,
shaking agony lying there like discarded,
unused pens. 

You have slept with your sadness and
learned to welcome her in the morning. 
A new mistress waiting to pluck open your
eyes to the sun. 

How she loves to see you smile 
with your eyes closed, last night's dreams
crusting them shut in the half light. Rub them
for waking while you groan to be left alone
like the dustrays on our wooden floor.
Wake up!
Wake up!

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Lewis

Lite air, his eyes are tired now. 
He snuggles up to me and blinks;
twice. 

He doesn't hear the keys, the way I do. 
They create a melody in my ear, and
to him, I think they are only noise. 

The tip tip tap of his paws on 
the tile, our hard house. His
restlessness, reminds me of
my own. He cannot find a 
place to rest unless I am
there, like you used to hold
dear for just me. 

He sits to guard me now, against
nightmares. It is as if I am floating
over the music and right into
your eyes, there waiting for
me like the end of a novel
or some well planned movie,
there, in the pause you wait
to catch. 

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

White Funeral

I have seen a brilliant funeral,
where they all wear white.
A garland of pale yellow carnations
adorned her neck. 

They placed her on the fire. 

Wrapped in linen, infused with oils;
you could count her transgressions
rise from the smoke of the pyre.

They took the form of the faces
on which she had trespassed; Friends,
lovers, children, Her One, parents, animals
floating from her burning body
releasing her pain into the cool summer air. 

Their faces, as they ascended, were smiling;
for they had already forgiven her 
but stayed locked inside her heart
until this very dying moment. 

Monday, December 1, 2008

Tub

My fingers are gnawed; beyond 
recognition, the bruise in the middle of
my left hand throbs through the _____
running along the blue roads. 

It is destroyed. 

If you find her limp against 
your touch (no doctor can
revive) then please know if was
all done for your stubbornness. 

The water is up to her toes
now, the yellow tint of the curtain
on her thinning skin, and with
each of your word-daggers they
take her life slowly. 


Friday, November 28, 2008

Stonepiece

A changeling taking place, stonepiece,
lovepiece they all fit together under the guise 
of the perfect interview, the flawless
nature of their curves and apertures. 

Seventy-eight pages of emotion there bonded
with string, together on paper. Bind them up,
yellow room in the morning, you (the one) there asleep
in the bed, the lumps of your body just 
under the sheet, separating us for eternity. 

Our bruised Hearts communicate in a
morse code (lovers language), staccato 
beats through the open air. We are laid
off Lovers, a skill for which there is no
open position.  

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

It was so quiet they could only hear their hearts. 

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Monday, November 24, 2008

Lady Mantis

She will swallow the weak ones. 
Their heads will
crush under the muscles of her throat, the
Bones splintering and rubbing together like
two pieces of a broken plate, dry agony.

At night, she will crawl into their sleeping
rooms and chew the ends of their fingers, One
by every last one until the nubs are left, wordless
they can produce no writing. 

Quicksands

Autumn is stuck; deep in the
mud of your self-righteousness. Please
free it and allow it to color back the branches
giving way to bare tree trunks. So then
Winter can blanket with white,
Pure air. 

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Louise Grandmother; Thanksgiving

I can remember the way she would suck
Her teeth after family meal. Tiny slivers of light
between each tooth just large enough to pull air
and casserole through. 

The cold yellowed corners of the room, harsh
right angles pierce her supple body curving
there among the fluorescent lighting, flickering
through the fan. 

She wrote, with slanted perfection, the birthdays
of her grandchildren on each corresponding 
square of her calendars; the year of aging
planned out. 

She kept nearly everything, preserved in clear plastic
baggies; gold plated social security cards, authenticity
certificates, greeting cards and letters written on 
lined notebook paper. Cleaning out her house was like
rummaging through the basement of an old
American Museum, the dust of life covering 
bunches of fake flowers, 8 track tapes, thinning
handkerchiefs and her unused lotion bottles. 

Her feeble legs had stopped walking. I can see her
placing her wrinkled hand upon her thigh
to Brace, up the bricked stairs. She'd make it into
the kitchen and open her arms wide, her entrance
we all waited for and ceremoniously stood up from
our respective couches to kiss her on the cheek, welcoming
her back from the dead of old age. 

This is the first day of giving thanks without her. 
No more worrying about her working left hand
bumping up against mine as we muse over the taste
and saltiness of the meal. We don't get to listen to her
talk about how much her mother loved yeast rolls. We
will sit around tables mutually feeling the loss, the gaping
hole of our ancient left-hander. Our matriarch, nothing
but our words willing her back into life. 

Louise Grandmother

Her body lies underneath the wet grass 
of the fall, slightly fading away in the silking 
satin of the box she had picked out. 
Her white hair dulling against the brilliance of her decay. 

She's got no eyes now; only the fake filling her sockets.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

You feel that? The way she sounds when she answers your calls. The warming when she answers your questions in just the right way, playful and cool- the same questions you asked me when we were dating used to tag another.
Make up something else to dance to. Create some other reality that doesn't involve me sitting on our make believe front porch. Go and I charge you, even, to throw around Dears and Darlings to entice her to remember you loved her, to live in both of their crumbling worlds.

Monday, November 17, 2008

I must write entirely for you. Whenever I see the words pour out onto the page, I picture your eyes scanning across them. The sweat from your fingers gently smearing the ink of the words near the edge of the paper. The index and middle finger moving their way down until they find the end and a smile upon your lips. You can look up to mine and find them crying, because you have been moved so. 

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Fluffiness separates me from you. There are times when I believe I can walk to you and you would rub my thumbs with yours. You could grab my heart and squeeze out the hurt, trickling down your jacket, soaked. Drips of anguish shared between your broken heart and mine. Words barely passing among us, but we share drinks in glasses that allow me to become her to you, hands pressed tightly around arms clothed in hoodies and half smiles. 

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Playground

Let's go ride swings together; take them
up until our shoes point toward the sky and
we see nothing but by the pendulum movement of
the Earth rushing before our eyes. Yellows of leaves
and the tan dirt underneath, glimpses of dying grass
and chubby children's faces wrapped in knitted scarves.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

 Please remember me happily. Don't let yourself justify your hatred or the time when all you could see was tears. Don't mistake our past with her future, his present. I recognize nobody on the street, strangers to our friendship. Our children lay ungrown together, there stunted by my idea of independence. 
He always closes his eyes, until last night he was shaken awake with fear, He had hurt someone laying close to him. What happens when You find Your bodies close to each other, shaking and sticking  as your breath, heavy, in and out. How do we find ourselves in positions almost impossible to rip away from. He lies in my bed with his hands in His hair, twisting it back until he can remember a time when he wasn't this. A cheat. Or open to love in a way His body has never felt. And she, left in the wake of his passing through, finds herself surrounded with him. Controlled by his aloe lips and dew eyes. The last time, the way it will not end, They were the only people on the world having that moment. The light shone onto her hip bones where his face was firmly planted into her. He promised her that it would not end this way. Accidently crossing some imaginary love line and leaving her in near tears about what she was tearing apart in herself. He grabs the skin about her face and kisses her lips one last time before leaving, again, the squeaking door signaling his exit into the parking lot and to his car, to his friends house and to a distracted sleep. 

I've entered a kingdom, His world, half mine- entirely Hers. He's come inside of me and rested there, wept, and rubbed his face until it was gone. 

We didn't mean to trip and fall. I look at Him in the corner of the room and he looks back at me, staring out through eyes that have seen me half nude in the streetlights through the window. We both wear red today. Wear red to make blue. Put on yellow to make light. Wear nothing to have love. 

A bleeding, weeping heart consumes Their actions if they let it. If they hold true to how they started on this intimate journey, then they are lovers, eternally. Or they could allow the mundane thoughts of others infiltrate what They hold dear, the uncomfortableness of multiple lovers in one heart. Did he say that he loved Her last night? She thinks that she remembers him screaming it through his teeth as he pulled Her under her own sheets. The fabric falls from the ceiling and all around them until a mutual accidental orgasm. 

Coins litter Her room. Tiny reminders of where He has sat and snuggled. The couch. The bed. In the bathroom and around the floor. Quarters and pennies stuck in time, the most beautiful fleeting ship of skin and hair sinking into his car and driving away.


Fishy Eyes


For more see Flickr; Re: Fishy Eyes!

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

New York Schitty




For more see Flickr site; Re: New York Schitty

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

He looked to me; you smell familiar he said.
I can't imagine his lips on hers. Both full embrace. He will smell her neck and put his hands on her back. Tears fall gently onto her shoulders. His eyes betray her. Confessing nothing; They say, I'm so glad to know you exist. I'm happy to see your future laid out before you like a fresh sheet cake, uncut with pink rose petals of icing in the corners. Save those for later and lick the candles after burning. The small folds of pink sugar. 

Yes he was here this morning. She can still smell him on the sheets. Her index finger on his nose as he kissed her palm, stuck there for a moment, air left his lungs, his eyes stayed closed. His neck curved back, my hand on his forehead to steady the storm inside his head. 

If you see him today, casual like you only speak and he will whistle at you, only she can hear. He winks, only she sees. He will stare at you, burning a hole through your skin. Your elbows. Your knees. The backs of your ankles. Sometimes your eyes. He looks sad, but content knowing he's been with her now. His leaving is a curious way for him to love. 

upon our first meeting, you will move your eyes all around my face: each curve, each pore. 

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

I smell my hands for strength against what I feel for you. The wrist and smooth forearm, mine-yet theirs for now, I know. The wind from the fan dries my eyes and tells me where your lashes fall to pillows with cases unwashed for months and to a bed sunken in on one side, your side, the side you sleep on, curled up in a ball curved behind none. 

Monday, October 27, 2008

Anniversary

It is Our day of paper. Hatched from trees and 
processed from pulp, it is even more delicate than 
a bubble, for at least the orb can fly. 
Our piece of paper has no defense 
against tearing, burning, shredding. 
paper rocks scissors. 
paper covers rock. 
knife slashes through paper and through Our 
fingers lying there, cut off at the knuckle. 

Friday, September 26, 2008

This is how I imagine my eyes to look in the darkness as small discerning dots, Eygptian eye of judgement looking down at the place where your face curves perfectly to form handsome. Grab what you can reach in a handful. Pockets full of them.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

A resounding yell through the closed lids of his pillowy face. I have found Her; His one. He thinks: Her back hurts. I will rub it. Her heart aches. I will ointment it. Her mind storms. I will calm it. She is dirty. I will clean Her body with soap from Her own dish.

Try to reach Her, Her see through glass veil of protection won't crumble. Out of arms reach, She will float amongst the screams and cries of Others to hold on! Grab my hand! Come take refuge here with dinners cooked and plans made.

She, not wanting to be put to shop for fixing, has ignored their compassionate conversations and sighs, tears welling up at the sight of Her prodded and poked by the unfairness of living and its seas of tears and the tiny boats of hope that carry its fallen victims across, drenched and shaking but alive against everything wanting them to have died during the whole thing. (falling apart).

She's got nothing left to give, She thinks as Her shining ship takes her, She'll jump out again to drown in the liquid of her lover. It's dark down there, with no waves to wash Her ashore.

She remembers him, cherries in her memory as She sinks down.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Bowls of Fruit

He came upon me. 
Instant.
His eyes were inside of mine 
at dinner.
His lips, two perfect pieces of flesh.
There's His sensuality. caught between
what speaks and sees.
His face turned down with eyes, raspberries
burning through You, pluck one and take it for Yourself. 
Juice on the tips and
falling around. Stickiness 
at the point where your chests meet.
Breathing there, in and over again. He
leaves, touching the bottom on your soul.
It died. She started smoking again. She
screams his name on paper- Mister. Sir. Pancake,
there He is as perfectly flawed in her mind
as the day She first saw
His eyes and honeyed skin. 

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

No keys, just a key ring
where she's going now, She
won't need them. She'll
get new ones when she gets
There, on Her own. 

Saturday, September 6, 2008

She stares at his name under received calls. It's Sunday. He had wanted Her then, sober as morning tea together with naked legs crossing one over the other until Her lips were on the bottom of His ear and on the skin just underneath. She followed that line up to His cheek bones and around His eyes. The tip of His perfectly sloped nose. Lips. Twice. The second one fuller than the first and down to His collar bones. One, two, three kisses across in length. She sat up to take Him all in, his skinny body, the meat on His arms, His closed eyes. She thought She could remember Him like that in Her bed, vividly, for Her next thirty living years.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

If You were a ball of fire-
that You are, I'd roll Myself in alcohol and collide into you. Being all burnt up, I could live recluse someplace out of the Way, unpaved road lined with Japanese Maples and wildflowers.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Friday, August 22, 2008

She tries to think of a way that would be the least traumatic for the person or people who found her. She didn't want to be dead for days before anyone came. The thought of her dog without food or water, his pilings in the corner of her room. He looks up at her now, as if he knows what's she's planning. Don't do it, he says with his smoky yellow eyes. 

She's contemplated pills. Jumping off cliffs (although there were none around). Running her car into a tree (although the thought of disfigurement without death terrified her more than going). Anything particularly violent was out. No stabbing. No guns. No hanging. In truth, she supposed, there were only a handful of ways to go out. She'd love to leave triumphantly, saving the life of a stranger, dying during an experimental surgery to cure cancer. It won't happen naturally. She will either take it herself, as it is hers in the first place, or it will happen to her in some fantastic tragedy as she least expects it. She will welcome it, teary eyes and lips open and she will melt away like sugar in water. 
If  I could vacuum up all the stars in our galaxy I would save them and spit them out into my apartment because that's how bright I feel. 

Monday, August 11, 2008

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Our bodies, like two spiral
Galaxies starting slowly towards each other, when
The Universe isn't looking,
GRAVITY
They collide and spin into each Other for a brief time, but
In actuality, lasts for a few billion years.
They exchange stars.
Having been forever altered from the touch,
spanning epochs.

Monday, August 4, 2008

July

















Life Preserver

A  yellow inflatable circle
with Rope. In Case of Emergencies,
hang on for Your dear life until We
find You floating there. Shocked You
are still living.
Unbelieved that You are breathing
so deeply, Your eyes closed with exhaustion.
We lift You out of the water, Your sodden
body filled with Liquid. You cannot
make memories of these months out 
in the Sentient Ocean. She has cradled You
in Her arms until we saw you. A yellow spec. 

Thursday, July 31, 2008

I will no longer cradle Your eyes in My arms, the tears 
Streaming down like fierce waterfalls there 
to the pockets of Your skin, creased. I do not 
care about Your broken hearts or sprained ankles. 
Your bruised legs. 
I want to be alone in this 
blackness, away from the yellow 
and purpled life with You. And Your jokes and candles 
and dinners and rings. 

It will go away slowly, like crying 
in the bathtub. The water from My eyes 
and disappears there amongst the luke warm womb. 

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Tell Me what it is you're thinking
You want. How was your day. 
Sometimes She's just so sad,
she'll only drink lattes, because
Eating meals, supper, dinner, lunch,
Breakfast is too much to bear alone. 
Then blueberry lips afternoons 
And She's back in his arms, wishing not
To be and not wanting to move from 
the finality of coming on top on her 
Own pillows as she lives, aware of the
Love that She is. 

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

You all have been that foundation that has prepared a feast for me. I will never grow out of your love. 

Thursday, July 24, 2008

i watched as a cloud broke apart above me in its own sky dance. it seemed to be coming towards me but never close enough to touch. i wonder what wind is moving it.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

warming thighs, stinging eyes
a very thick Thing envelopes me,
My words, they come out muddled,
muffled by insecurity and frightened
fingertips as they type out messages 
into Darkness to meet His eyes. Finally,
Calm. To soothe the wet eyes and gasping lungs.
Get strong! He screams though tears. I'm 
proud! He whispers through a frown. Embrace
the Pain, He says through smiles. 
Welcome it. Love it. 

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Goodnight to the Unborn,
goodnight to those who will
never see the morning sun on
Their mother's faces. 
The cheekbones glowing,
precious powder. 

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Avenues

It's probably not easy for You
to forget what all I said
that night.
But I am drawing blanks as the reality
of Our colored life evaporates and
My soul ricochets off old lamp posts
along the streets we have lived.
Moultrie. Queen. Lockland. Queen.

Friday, July 11, 2008

When the sun is kept in your heart, all evil vanishes from your life. You are my sunrise setting down on fields of liquid spirits. I want to lie there with your blue eyes wandering into the distant golden; with your hands searching for my hands in the blinding light of your own existence. We would lie inside of your own being, until you kicked me out, my sunset, falling.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

I will cut Myself off, like
You would trim a skirt to hem it up.
All ragged with strings falling at the sides
Tickling your legs as You walk to remind
Yourself to cut them when You get back, iron
and sew the loose edges by piercing the fabric
with an electric needle.
Press out the seam. He's Gone.
You've sewn Him out.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

I don't think I've ever been a hero. And there's something so simple and lovely about your lover being your hero.

They loved each other so much.

You can tell in the way that he kisses her, slow and with passion but with eyes closed dreaming of his hero, left. He grabs at the back of her head searching for his hero's hair, long. His hands creep up her back, reaching for his lost hero's muscles, strong and soft. He misses his hero's moans, but curls up behind her, their new bodies fitting perfectly inside the other. She cries but he doesn't let go. His colored blue teal arms grab her more tightly, his muscles confused that she isn't his hero, but something good still.

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

She can't tell you the color of his eyes. Perhaps brown blue, but there they are. And a sniff on the neck. It's there, and resistance and hesitation and lust through moans and grabs and pulling her hair. The teeth don't hit once, all lips and smells in the light struggling with jean bottoms and buttons. Whatever they are, the Man is beautiful in passion on the floor and sleep it gone from your memory.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

I want to see Him, still, soaking in the tub,
the edge of the water lapping up against His collar bones.
He smiles.
His lips, red from the steam of the water.
He studies his toes. 

Thursday, June 26, 2008



Tuesday, June 24, 2008

he would always put his nose to the top of her head just where the twirl began, and stay there just smelling her. sniffing the soul out of the crown of her head. he would linger there for moments, then move her hair with shaky, sweaty hands. 

Monday, June 23, 2008

Thursday, June 19, 2008

The sun on a clear, autumn day.

The wind as it catches the hood of your jacket.

The way I feel only lying next to you. When I hear that song.

If I glance at you when you’re reading across the room.

When you walk in front of me and I can see your skinny legs and butt through your corduroys.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

I've been sleeping deeply, not dreaming of the creases in your skin bleeding with my inconsideration. Your eyes are puffed up, now. It's almost if the night had never happened. It's turning into words.

Friday, June 13, 2008