how grim, to love a poet!

how maddening: the cold, the heat.

the grey-thick cotton gods above,
like skin to protect my sweet earth from burning blaze.

from burning tongue, agitated heart -
only a brief candle when first your eyes met mine,
and out leapt sparks to build bonfire hearts.

let me not consume you, you cold-water thing;
you laughing devil, you iron-boned angel:
let me cool my head in your arctic breast

having missed today, i give him a present notwithstanding:

rumination
on face landscapes -
stones woven into the earth -
curves like ports keep
his mouth a safe harbour

his sweet eyes shut fast in their pillows,
framed with tickling feathers
that sing my bare shoulders awake at dawn.

here a bone below,
the steady under-of-you
marrow under running warm with who knows what -

beautiful bound up in private currents,
stitched in to skin too tightly
we come together to shake ourselves free; vain and in vain

hungry, rain, birthday.

my gems held warm in winter:
winter sticks around in sympathy for me.
reminds me of
little fireplace;
he lit it and i left it
forgot it
garden trampled
clumsy feet, clumsy lovers.

i like child smudged in chocolate,
smudged and wide-eyed open,
all so marvelous to my cantaloupe eyes -
ginger tongues and cotton candy;
sweet little words imported in, like contraband,
like little signpost miracles
that also strangely hurt and crashed
upon arrival
rocks before the sea;
stumbled fins, torn-up flippers.

his'gee whiz' persona
fed up, departs
overfed;
stuffed with processed cheese and take-out Thai

january

the most extase, she said
and we fluttered both
inside and out
within secret tiger parts

commemoration

the rain howled out
brains and brawn all shattered on the sidewalk:
here we sit, crones with clove cigarettes,
a purple taste under the bruised sky.

there goes the machismo swinging by;
there it goes -
head held high,
do no wrong;
out of key, can't sing.

my knuckles scraped in the muck too long,
became too gored with caking liquids,
slick poisons, white stained cocaine tread outpaced heart.

holding my tongue, lest
curses drop like spittle,
inelegant words for lady mouths -
has honey-man gone to bile?
tragedy, tragedy, unwilled comic tragedy.

honey-heart gone to bile - that's closer,
that's it,
the chairs scrape and shiver,
the air is jabbed for emphasis -
i feel it melting, macerating inside -
yes, exactly,
it's like the strawberries have gone all to melt;
the tongue is fooled by memory,
it slips through fingers -
the skeleton gone

ode to firepit

thank god for the worming warm flames
inching around the split, sacrificed wood:
the theme is pondered with increased gravity, directly in relation to the number of dimming beverages, the quanitity of rich foods in belly.

faces hover round,
more eager to share honest stories,
or at least the honester version of stories
that will persist for a great number of years.

stories that define whatever, quality X, except too subjectively - rare and special indeed are the conscious among us.

behind, the hammock swings, filled with lazy lovers engaged in their own talk
and out comes the chiding host, and the constant threat of unseen neighbours,
the damned killjoys who always fail to manifest. suburban goblins slither up the trees.

we turn back to fire without a second thought.
we'd rather burn it down than stop this train of tongues and ears,
of smoke billowing smoothly up to the hungry gods,
of eager eyes glittering in the flame.

yuppies with guns

yUppies with gUns grin!
their asses be SO bAd
yes, they've had black friends (10 points)
yes, they've smoked It (5 points)
giggles go around.
giggles tinkle in the very clean living room,
its lovely scents and egg-white walls;
pillows chosen by mother
lives driven by mother fear

oh, sweet yUppies!
aching to be breaking,
rolling round in corked up playrooms:
microfiber furniture, dvd, washing machines,
whatnots.

guns giggle in the backs of closets,
wrapped in garbage bags,
hidden till show-and-tell times: holiday parties, new girlfriends,
et ergo sum.

pereat mundus - fiat puerii
we grasp the gun in our head, we can't sort out why it's there,
we just know it look good.

we wake up in the night, deeper than deep
we too hear screams!
yes, yes we do!!!

could this may be so naked?

brimmed up with obligements
many too over-many to do's
which i enjoy in their little ways.

my teeth grit otherwise; grind of boredom
gritty dull of idle hands
hands put to good use
to good use so obliging.

in rings polite-isms
and phone tag, and careful meetings,
carefully extended friendships which sunder and flop,
so sadly.

the pine trees bend and sigh with me,
their spines wiggle and wave, salute my upward gaze
salute the clean nose
of woman living clean life;
woman grazing knuckles in the bike lane, the forever helmet locking in the blood

rainstorms in may

the day split into halves
wearing thick coats of rain on sluggish backs;
pale palen and sweet
the dimly milked tea
upon which lips supped by the windowpane.
my eyes sweep the courtyard for
whatever answer
others find so easily.
tap tap goes the rain,
traces its way from sky to crack against the rough of dirt

spring, sublimation

life being good: consistent, paid up, a few drinks.
the sun shines,
my thighs come out,
the old men spy up my white thighs
whistling by

the books get read on the porch.
tea will be iced
my hair will grow long
i will remember last summer and laugh -

all those fireflies and marble statues,
in bigger cities, bigger price tags;
where life was seemingly headed.

to my surprise
i am still here -
no new moniker, not a wife, not a beloved, lots of nots that the neighbours prod my mother about

to which my ears have closed;
i remove the nots.
i like the ams.
i like the me that's left, even when alone - awake, burrowed, paid up and well-fed.
paint stained fingertips,
sharp eyes
red heart
am in love with everyone, everyone.