The Thickening Wood

I ran through wet tree branches
and felt the recoiling sting shock me
back to my own disheveled mind.

With little droplets of sap in my hair
and deep red welts blooming on my skin
I ran, feet pounding against the needled floor.

I ran, even as the rain pelted me pink
against the dark green hands
reaching for me.

I ran, sloshed through the creek,
upon smooth coloured pebbles worn flat
and perfect for skipping.

I ran through tall grass, with the alfalfa in bloom,
scraping at my thighs;
little purple flowers caught up in my dress.

I ran and startled big black birds to air
a great rush of wings
past my ears, all frightened.

I slid down the hill once dust
now turned to mud in the rain,
splashing up my knees with wet dirt.

I pounded down the road, a muddy rut,
my breath coming in rattling gasps,
my legs aching fire sinking into the damp ground.

At the end of the trail,
I dove back into the thickening wood
as the sticker bushes clung to me, pulling me from my path.

The canopy closed over my head,
lushed green deepening the further I fled
into those flats of wild roses and bull pines stretching for the sky.

The black berries brambled in my way
and ripped at my skin with swaying thorns;
sweet juice staining the souls of my feet black; berries crushed under foot.

I ran, not once looking behind me but frantically sprinting faster;
I outran my slicked thoughts of you to the crumbling river bank,
and when I got there I dove straight in and let the flood waters pull me away.

Lips as Red as Blood

my thighs are slick in a rush of blood
crimson thickness is running down my legs
past my knees
pooling at my ankles

it's filling up my mouth
when I part my lips
I can only speak in burbles
and spit the ground all red

the dirt drinks me deep
filling up the cracks in the landscape
my femininity dripping
a trail of jeweled droplets to his door

he can never understand my comfort
in the drips left behind on the white tiles
as I slip from the kitchen to the bedroom
seeking lips to kiss only hard

he cringes in the face of the female rigor
that stiffens my belly
with unkempt want and forgetful desire
he does not understand what it means to bleed

to bleed with no blooming wound
to sit folded in on your self
with fingers tipped in blood
and eyes heavy in unfocused thought

the ground is thirsty for me
the moon tugging at my white dress
slowly turning crimson in the fading night
as he twists nervously at the door

he is goose stepping around my trail
gingerly picking his way to a clean spot
he quivers, 'I can feel the red tide of you slamming into me
even with my back turned'

I whisper through lips as vermilion as blood
'then never turn your back on me
and you will never have to know the nightmares
I have been saving especially for you
never turn your back on me
and I will not come howling for you in the night.'

I take my white dress and crimson flowers
blooming all over the room
and fly up to the ceiling
grasping only shining bloodied kisses

I leave trails of garnet on his face
I tug at his hair
I weave in and out and in again
dipping my red fingerprints down his back

and when the night cries in staining tears
the patches he is unable to bleach away
he will remember me all in white
and know what it is to be wanted in only a hard red way

The Wreck

I think I will set fire to this sinking ship
and see if it can burn in the rain
maybe a thousand tin sailors can swim
but I doubt it

with iron limbs
I am sure to sink to the bottom
where I can search for sharks
freezing in the deep
as the waves slam into my iron chest
and the ringing carries across the water

there is armor in my belly
and planks where my eyes should have been
I am going to build a raft
to drift further from shore
and see if I can set fire to it as well

with all these burning ships around me
the sea is illuminate
and the seals are dashing
to eat the hearts of drowning men
their pelts gleaming in the reflection of flames off the water

you could swallow pearls
that were once orbits in the center of your head
and find me down here
rusting in a bed of seaweed
under the bones of great iron ships

you should fear death by water
as I am a drowning sort
wearing a crown of little fish
and a cloak of octopus tentacles
with arms like nets
set to drag you down to me

you told me my kiss is like gasping for air
and I taste of salt water
well I would rather commit to something
than live a life dry
abandoned on some beach
as the ghosts wade out
to find my blood in the tide

I would prefer to drown completely
and make my home beneath the waves
in these caverns of dark and rotting wood
caught in the songs of passing whales
than to perform this drowning in increments
which you seem to cherish o' so very much

I Knew Right Then That You Would Break My Dirty Heart

And you might wake up tomorrow
with the strange taste of blood
in your throat

and you might wonder where the summer went.

You might wonder about the cold place next to you
and the strange perfume upon your pillows.

You might bury your head in your arms
and remember unusually cool skin on a sweltering night
curled against you
whispering something
that sounded like a dirty confession of love.

You might think you remember me
but I am just a dusty ghost
on your tongue
that you collected one warm night
from the trash cans in the alley
and I have gone home
with my dirty pitch black heart
to the clean white snows of Winter's hands
and the gentle caresses of Fall's windy tongue
to calm myself of your summery lies,
your heated hands
and your golden shining skin.

A Rust Coloured Season

when our skin met in the summer
you let your jitters get the best of you
laughing nervously in my ear

but your hands rested on my hips
as you followed my swaying rump
up the stairs
to a room that only existed outside
under a canopy of green needles
and sun dappled cheeks

I spent those summer nights
sitting nakedly on my deck
uncaring about my spying neighbors
drawing on my pipe
watching the smoke swirl into dim images
in the moonlight

I watched the deep green ivies creeping up the wall
listened to the little tippy tapping of the water
down smooth rocks
letting myself drift back to that white beach
watching the sun touch your skin with a deep brown
as I lay in the sand
and cursed the silence

the surf took my heart
and sent it to sea
on a boat built of drift wood
and floating seaweed
it is still drifting out there
bobbing up and down with the fishing birds
sitting on the tide
diving after
little fish swarming around the rocks
looking to nibble at your pink toes

our skin shining in the dripping wetness
as we stood on the beach and watched the sun set
listened to the waves lap at our souls
someone had to say something
but the words did not come
the silence grew up
and covered over my mouth
my tongue
wanting to gently touch your lips
stuck firmly inside my head
and sealed with the heat

the ocean called my name
as the moon rose
told me to go home
where I could dream of your arms
your trembling lips
your velvet skin under my fingers
in a haze of gentle drugs
and creativity set lose
on an unsuspecting world

Winter, My Lover

"Come home"
He says
"Come home"

Winter calls me Snow
and tells me to forget the Summer
He knows I have been collecting up my warm blood
into dazzling coloured glass bottles
and hanging them in the window

He takes my precious bottles of blood
and kisses them
until ice crystals like tiny ballerinas
dance against the glass
in a sea of red

The Winter calls me Snow
and I jump sending tiny droplets into air
He catches my hair in His fingers
and smiles

He leaves trails of ice
down my cheeks
with His trembling hands
kissing me
until I can see my warm breath vaporizing
into a cloud from my mouth
lingering on His lips

the Summer tortured me with
promises of sand and hot skinned lovers
the flies came to drink my sweat
the ocean boiled under the gaze of an indifferent Sun
and Summer stripped my clothing away
until my flesh fried
in the Sun-baked fields

the Summer carried on his long affair with that indifferent Sun
and hid the Moon
She wept softly dwarfed by the dazzling gaudy Sun
with Summer laughing his sticky laugh
turning my nights damp
and all too short
twisting under the sheets
slaking thirst in need of relief

Winter cried
"come home!
come home now!"
and opened His pale arms to me
He cradled the Moon to His eyes
gave Her a place back in the sky
He stretched the nights long
to cover me in His blanket of soft snows
whispering my dreams white
as He sang me to sleep

Winter called me Snow
queen to His white kingdom
with a crown of ice
and a crystaled heart
in His long nights
stretched at His bed
folded in His arms
bent to His Kiss
and lost to His blue blue eyes
I dreamed of the Fall that kept us apart
and the Spring that would only serve to part us again

Spit Shadow

I understand what I am.

Tonight I am comfortable
everything is warm
safe
innocent

the skin only becomes softer with the touch
a sigh contently escaping lips
with clever words
clever fingers

a female energy filling up the room
not unexpected but still surprising
sleep a memory
and years gone since the last time the floor was home

I have spent lifetimes
dancing alone night after night
I was on display for you and him and her
and all took notice
calling me the witch

witchy heart
too much to bear
too quick to catch
too neurotic to understand

but I understood
found your secrets years later
and pinned them to my wall
to be sure I remembered
that I knew
what happened
and what became
and how clearly they saw me

the moment has passed
I am somewhere else now
but the waves are still here
still slamming against foreign shores
and a witchy heart burns in the dark
glowing beyond the horizon
with the sensation of your touch
the glitter
and the promise

I am off to better lands
witchy wiles guiding me
and the light caught in your heavy-lidded eyes
urging me on

in comfort I have found the rest I desperately needed
asking you to listen
for the calling of your name through the night
the sunlight searing our eyes

I have found you both in my shadow
grinning at the stars
with kisses frozen on your lips
and smiles drawn out in spit

A Slippery Man

you left me quiet
so silent
my hallway
you transverse with a backwards smile
the click of the deadbolt in the jam
the smile slipping from my lips
your taste lingering
until I wash it away

I need you to need me
this I could drag on
waiting
for you to remember my neuropathic arrangement
and crave it
maybe months from now
to remain alive but gradually dying
I wish you remembered me

I can see her in your eyes
you want to hide her blonde hair from me
you need me to fill what she can not
and I am the fool
who mistakes your sugar for reality
I am growing darker
a satiated galaxy raining on you
groping for your slippery mind
in the slippery night

and the Truth fills me like a shadowy light
the city looming huge behind me
my fading waiting for you
and you will never know
my twist
the fluttering
my hands
always fluttering
in the moonlight
my mouth open
gasping
the moths filling up my eyes
shifting their wings
to speak for me
in this endless twilight
this morning relentless
coming for me over the hill
with your image burned in the sunlight
so red
burning
just like you

just like you

a slippery man
slipping from my hands
and my name
too much
to carry the distance home

Cross Iron

this is where my hands came to die
gently folded upon your thighs
grasping at your springy flesh
dragging my dirty nails down the side of your leg

your disdain has become palpable
shutting your eyes to my rasping breath
pursing your lips against the sound
and brushing my fingertips from their grip

I have seen your eyes
in a most indifferent moment
felt my tongue against your arm
and licked the salt of frozen days

you have put your ear to my heart
waiting for the beats to silence
at your unforgiving will
buried in your iron chest

had I the strength of quick eyed demons
I would be the ladder to heaven
pulling down the veil of your eyes
stretching your nerves to kingdoms come

I am the fracture in your armor
the tipping of your careful tower
with my slipping breath
I will topple your titanium rule

in my limbs I have found your death
my fingers are leaping with joy
had I the will I would drink your blood
then hammer the nails in myself

and anger would ring beautiful
an iron bell forever in my ears
your tears as soft as kittens feet
with my hands stronger than an eternity of your hate

Original Land and Mother

mother
the skies are soft
clear
and drifting through the valley
where I grew to my womanhood
in your knowing ways
by those golden fields
along the winding road

I am still that girl
with the long tangled hair
of our tradition
and chubby thighs
running through the dusty field
following that white dog
to the fence line horizon

the fat grass hoppers jumping at my feet
as the golden grass parts before my legs
the creek in its green belt
parting the dry and cracked land
babbling a little song behind me
as I run to the stones left as glacier marking posts
to the formation of these grazing hills

mother
your crooked smile is calling me to the kitchen
the skies open as birds leap to air
and the ghosts of dark haired children
laugh in the distance
I am racing down to the barn long collapsed
my jeans covered in dirt
and my fingers clasping delicate wild daisies
painting the fields in spots of white

in that place I grew
in that log cabin I watched your hands knead the bread
with a strength I longed to have
the yellow bowl of many years
catching up the flour for the days events
and the corn grew by the window
as you chased the bears from your fruit trees
the big truck lumbering to life
the wood pile defeated for the day
and my brothers' dirty work boots
tracking up your clean floor

mother
now I have grown
my femaleness slipping red between my legs
I have my own home
in a city by the sea
grey and dull in these diffused skies
where the rain turns the dirt to mud
and everything is green
singing a sweet cedar song
to the ocean tumbling down to the bay
I have seen the city rise up and swallow the sky
in glass and steel
I have seen men dieing in the streets
their hands out before them
and their eyes gone for the haze
here the wild animals hunt for garbage
and the grasshoppers drown in puddles

my feral joy is in those hills still
and I pray it dwell in my heart tonight
mother
I have found in my age that this original land
has burrowed deep down into my skin
and I am remembering
you crouched down in the garden
talking to your tomato plants
and me
ready to be alive
in the slow golden moment
of those cloudless skies

The Strange Days of My Affection

my arms ache
and this softness inside of me
for you
is bringing down the city around me
but we are not in love

you tell me

we are not in love

your fingerprints are still in my pillowcases
but I have no distance on me
no time in your departure
and you can see my despairing eyes
can feel the slippery twists in my mind
can taste when the air shimmers around me

you have found me out for what I am
buried under this nest of warm quilts
singing my grandmother's song
and longing for the swaying pines of my home
my mother's lopsided smile
calling me to the kitchen

but you have never seen where I came from
know only a passing story
you wonder what made me this way
and have seen no history beyond my collapsing walls
beyond this city's dilution of my flesh
have not seen me running through dusty fields
where my love was born
and my figure slowly shaped in the hands of a Northern maiden
with cloudless skies dipping the sun behind the hills

in this bedroom
in this city
with its dampened airs
and greying towers
you have found me
my hair spread over the bed
and my skin relenting to your touch
my heart affected by your clear eyes
your words slowly dancing in my ear
in these strange days of my affection
I ache
and I do not come up for air
the skies split
and sing their darkened wet song
to my swaying hands
in this mingling too full of your sweetened voice

but we are not in love

your hand is not in mine
and when I wake to the blackened night
whispering my name through the window pane
and I shiver to the thought
of cedar trees
calling me to the shore
I am alone

and I am not in love

Judith

even if the third time he betrays me
I am still devote to flesh
and whisper prayers in skin

he has no arms
and I have no heart
through our eyes
galaxies explode and form
in subtle fringed blinks

with messiah hands
I cradle organs
for I am the organ grinder
and spit his name
in acrid dust
which jumps to life
to march to the standing gate

he tells me to lay still
to accept the offering
of the burden
of my sex

us who stumbled
and opened the box
misery tapping at our ribs
covering our thighs in slick blood

he betrays me
offers me to saints
unhinges his jaws
to swallow the right whole

he has cursed my serpent lovers
wrecked havoc on my head
plucked the strings where my heart should have been
and crushed my hands with a rock

in a booming voice
he tells love to enter slavery
cripples me at the dawn
hangs me from the highest crooked tree
for all the glassy denizens to see

ruthless is my tongue
across the expanding times
I have lived one thousand lives
in the burning moonlight
and howled through pointed teeth

I am mother to monsters
and at his touch
I am born the evil of existence
at his betrayal I am snarling
and snapping
at soft hands that grip me

I have a mouth full of tiger-striped moths
eyes brimming with black salt
and hands twisted around a lost promise
in betrayal I am open
a rushing fracture in the world
calmly I crack all the doors
and bare my breast in the name of storms

he needed me
dipped his fingers into my flesh
twisted me
sang my tapping little song
and stole my innocence
in his image
I am reborn in demonic sugar
and have called all the world
to my now crippling song

for I have seen the Truth
and know its taste
as bitter as unripe pomegranates
and twice as vile
as sacred wine

Lustre

such starved hands
kneading the flesh at my breast
digging digits down as far as the skin would allow
when I pried the fingers away
little half moons were left in angry red

you never saw the aftermath
did not see the swaying
when I slumped against the wall
and felt the air go out of my lungs
the fight go out of my mind

angry half moons stared at me
waiting for the telephone to ring
for a voice that had moved on in a snap
my own hands jumping
and all the lustre gone from the stars

I washed my hair
felt the water swallow up my slipping
slept in shallow fits
and roamed the room like a wraith
startling myself in the mirror

'your eyes are so sad'
I think you meant hollow and burdened
seeming as there was a rupture in the closing distance
shimmering under my skin
and I saw the drips of another life

I felt the ghosts of kisses on my lips
signatures of your hasty love
and even quicker departure
the door slammed
and my hair came lose over the world's edge

to the gate I have spoken
and he tells me I am a burden, girl
he says there is red where my feet should be touching grass
I have no distance on me
caught you in little edges of happiness with my teeth
too sharp to love

I am as slick as stones
alight in tall grass but unwinded
frost-covered in dawn's chilly arms
and now nature to all emotions
too much for one man

I am blight in the wind
a heavy touch upon your cheek
all out of feeling and forgetting
and down by the alley way
I see the cats darting through the weeds

my hands are all ember
leaving heated trails of fevered disaster
down the crook of your neck
in the amber sun
I am one burning smile away from the end

I twist my fingers and can tell you your future
I can tell you what you felt yesterday
and tomorrow I will be shadowing my dreams
finding my colour lustrously dead
and flying furiously on into a gloriously red dawn
without you tied around my neck

River Man

I lean my head against the cool glass of the window,
and listen to the storm attempt to tear the city apart.
I spent the night dreaming of hurricanes,
with your name written upon them.

I feel the weight of the gray skies,
pushing down on my head like an invisible hand;
lightening tapping at my mind,
and saying your name over and over again.
I am drowning in the weight of my own convictions,
as the rivers and oceans rise to meet the land in a torrential kiss.

And for your wet kiss, River Man;
I would drop flowers of orange and gold into thick waters,
to watch them drown.
I would dive my hands into relenting dark muds,
and come up dirty for your taste.
I would turn my face up to an angry sky,
let the driving rain pelt my skin until it was a chilly pink.
I would drown in increments,
just to force my eyes open under water,
and glimpse your filmy half-light face.
Just to let your kiss,
so wet,
fill my lungs.

There are messages I have filled bottles with,
tossed them from the bridge.
Your name on each scrap of paper,
floating from my shore to your shore.
River Man, you are all shores.

A slow *slip-slop-drip* dripping on the floor.
A kiss like fighting;
fighting for air, for breath, for meaning, for reason.
River Man, you are dripping on my floor.
A shiny voice chittering in the back of my head,
"Should I ever trust such a rushing voice?
Should I ever trust wet blue eyes?"
And your eyes are the bluest.
A thousand years of erosion,
worn down to the bluest depths.
So clear,
River Man,
I can see through to the ocean,
just behind your furrowed brow.

I can see purple star fish against your illuminate skin,
wet algae on your tongue.
You taste of pure salt and clean water,
I can feel you breaking out of your banks,
ripping down the dams that keep you from me.
The rain is singing to me.
Singing in sweet dulcimer tones,
all blue and green.
Tipping and tapping against the window;
Little rivers running down the walk.
Little wet fingers running down the glass.
The rain holds your name for me,
and whispers your secrets,
into each damp night.

O River Man,
I have nestled into these little worn pebbles,
in vibrant colours under cool clear water.
I am cradled by your cold hands,
in this deep pool of green and golds,
as little fish swim against my thighs.
River Man,
I have met the fishing snake,
and he winks his eyes at me,
from the whistling bull rushes,
and sings his little hypnotic song.
The bright green frogs are crooning,
and the skipper beetle knows my name.

River Man,
take my body and flow.
We are now only drips and drops,
we are in the mouths of fish.
We are singing a babble of bluest eyes,
and loving over water falls.
We are a hurricane,
we are calm water.
We are a sailor's delight.
We are forever lovers gone to sea,
and our names are on the damp wind.
We are the slow dripping of kissing,
and we know the depths,
of every river's heart.
We turn our eyes to the sea,
and sleep in tidal pools,
just out of the sun's reach.

River Man,
give me your name,
and we will flow,
forever green
and forever blue.
With the little fish,
caught in our ebbing tides;
And just me,
and just you.

Thrust and Parry

We seem to be writing circles around each other,
on either side of this invisible demarcation line,
we have drawn down the center of the city.

Maybe one day you will look up,
and I will be on the other side of the desk,
peppered with the intimates of your life,
with a wry smile and a wicked wink.
That is, if you ever look up.

In the meantime,
there is an invisible thrust and parry,
and I, for one,
am not sure who is thrusting and who is parrying.

We both have teeth,
and we are gnawing at every literary nuisance,
that gets in our way.

You in your little forest on the other side of town,
with a pretty young thing wrapped in your arms.
Me in my carefully built fortress,
meant to keep interlopers from the walls,
who always seem to sneak in anyways.

I should have set better traps.


I would interrupt you as you hold court,
to your glassy eyed admirers,
but I am only passing through.
I have to run.

You see, I am just so busy with all this nothing to do.
There are places I need to be,
and people I need to turn a blind eye too.
I need to get all these words out,
before they turn to stone inside my head,
and my skull becomes a large rattling maraca,
keeping time with the tragically melodramatic songs of the world.

I really am in a rush.
I really must run.

Maybe we will meet again without our clothing,
and lay down our swords.
Maybe we will finally write a straight line,
and close our eyes to the unnecessary noise of cluttered hearts.
Maybe the pen is mightier than the writer,
and soft lips can hold the truth and demise of the hour at bay.

Maybe one day;
Just one day will be enough.

When Summer and Winter Were Lovers

With downcast eyes you whisper,
'This is too much;'
but I know the most intimate act,
between a man and a woman,
is to have him take your hand,
and lead you through a crowded room.

You trace your fingers down my wrist,
as you draw me around the twisted throngs,
of careful on-lookers,
locked into their own tragic romances,
slipping shiny little glances at other parts of the room.
This heated night touches our skin,
and we pine for Summer's last days.

Glitter falls from the ceiling and lights upon my skin,
as you wrap yourself around my form,
in rhythm with this tribal beat;
a thousand feet pound the floor,
shaking the false columns of a lost Babylon.
I rewrite this Odyssey sinking into the ocean of your arms,
with my eyes half closed and your lips upon my neck.

This room is full of nymphs turning their bright eyes to us;
in a winking moment of tantalizing breath,
a two-sexed goddess controls the air around the stage,
and all eyes cast upon her;
but your lips remain upon my neck,
and your hands stray down my hips,
playing out the beat of your lust.

When we flee this room,
full of the beating hearts of breathless dancers,
and slip into the darkness of the city,
stealing down the back streets of dimly lit houses,
you stop me and kiss me under a tree,
dripping in the last vestiges of Summer.
You run your hands under my dress,
caressing your way to your own desires.
I feel Fall creeping cold hands into my hair,
and the wind begins to blow from the North.

This big bed is where I am undone,
and slip into a troubled sleep.
You stand in the corner and whisper,
'This is too much;'
I can feel the Fall turning my skin damp,
dieing leaves caught up in my hair,
all passion leaking from me as the Summer vibrates on and on.
I can feel the new Winter now not far,
crying to the dawn in a hushed voice.

They were once lovers as we are,
the Summer, ever bright and the Winter, darkening,
Summer kissing the glistening snows of Winter's soft hands,
Winter's frozen breath grazing Summer's warmed cheek.
But they never touched,
never found paths beyond emptiness,
and broke themselves,
as I have broken myself on the glass in your heart.
I watch your sad eyes as I turn on,
into this blinding dawn of dieing Summer's last wish,
for the Winter neither of us can have,
and the Fall that always keeps us apart.

Flutter

I have held the salt of you
upon my tongue
in your moments
of most soft relenting collapse

I have seen your hands
in the troubled ecstasy
of my rolling body
jump and start at the sound of fluttering

In my distorted heart and eye
I have written you
into this place my mind has suffered
and in mingling thought I have seen you fade

We two know only the text
the moment when idea transforms the page
and we can only write love like dying rain drops
in soft relenting mud

We two are bodies in space
beyond touch and taste
we have fooled ourselves to the brink of evolution
coming for one another through the grass

You write love and lust best
use my fingers as a revolution
outside of skin to an understanding of the brink
the loss of what I had

I have twisting sheets
a bed I lie into escape the need
the feebleness of my heart
I stand in recollection and devour insipid want

I came here
I stayed
I never left
but outside they are running
the grass cutting before them
you have seen her smile
and followed
ran through tall weeds
following her glowing outline
little bird twist
and see the flutter
I am here
thin lipped and corpse laden
this ripping shore
never letting me go
heavy
thick
a stone to keep the place
where I once was young
unraveled and dangerous
pretty girl
naked only for myself now

I have quit the moment
dedicated myself to older gods
who hate beyond time
and seen the sky open beyond black clouds

I have distorted my heart and eye
I was willing to give up the trees
to live in your name
but you slipped out the door when my back was turned

I have kisses like signatures
I have known you too well to love you
I have seen that black sky split open
and pluck your eyes to heaven

I have seen through to your internal script
I know thoughts as I know skin
and your skin I have known well
in the light of the only dieing night we need

I have seen you and I know
I know beyond the reach of temptation and skill
I know beyond the distortion of eyes
I know beyond my own carnivorous heart

I know

the flutter of little birds in grass

A Heart With Teeth

I like you better when you are
very, very quiet.

I still see your fluttering hands,
shuffling to the Devil.
Wiggling.
He is waiting with his mouths open;
Frozen.
Waiting for you with his hands swaying.
Waiting for you.
Crying.
He loves you,
more than I ever could.

Mad Arabs are running wild,
calling my name;
Beyond the city walls.
Saladin knows me,
as he knows this well below the city.
He knows me and I can see,
Christians in blinding armor,
wilting in the desert sun;
sinking into the sand,
lining the horizon.
Standards in the wind;
Futile men in futile arms.
I sit down at the pharaoh's temple,
and I weep;
I watch the cats take the souls of the dead.

I am standing in the creek.
Snow is falling all around me.
I jump;
send droplets into the frozen mist,
startling black birds to air.
My skin in veins of ice,
cracked patterns,
all blue in clear cedar lights.
You called me;
Ice maiden,
in colder pastures,
running on.
To the wintery kingdom,
I run on.

When the light hits me,
when my eyes are momentarily blinded in its' bathing;
I stare at the darkened faces of the audience,
looking for the recognition in their eyes.
In these moments I am a swaying goddess,
with my lips parted;
I am a glitter wound,
in the minds of the impartial parties,
to the reign of this queen in bone corsets.
Bone Queen.
Ice Maiden.
Desert Cat.

I am waiting for the night to fall,
so I can sneak out and feign normalcy,
among these crowds of happy giggling sycophantic lovers;
Staring glassy-eyed at each others mouths,
hungry for freedom.
I hate them.
I hate them all.
I kiss like glass,
pouring blood down your throat;
A predatory lover.
A burning crown of fiery points in my hair,
and I am calling God for you.
Calling for you,
in this snuffed out night,
Among these fools and righteous men.

Your words are all apologies and sugar.
You are pouring them in my ear,
flicking your tongue in and out seductively.
Every time you smile,
I make the wrong choice.
He's still on your lips,
I can taste it.
I can taste the reaching,
the being,
the eyes.
Your fingers playing drumbeats on my hips.
You want me to dream you;
Cripple you, little god.
You say,
"I like the way you smile,
when you hurt me."

I'm crawling to you now.
You rise up;
Angry.
Bury yourself in me,
up to the hilt.
Sometimes I want to be like you.
I want to leave you in the hands of these giggling psychopaths,
who will stroke your hair,
whisper sweet nothing into your ears,
kiss your eyes,
and drive their fists into your chest;
Searching.
Searching for your heart.
Stealing me with them,
one night after another;
Until I can finally find God,
so far away from your arms.

I am coming through the trees,
oh God.
I am coming.
I am coming for the light,
shining on me.
I can see,
the world stretching before me,
I am coming to die.
Old demon,
I am so rudely forced.
And I am coming to die,
at your feet.
I am waiting for your spark,
to burn the fucking room down.

I wake up and find,
to my disappointment;
That I still seem to be breathing.

City Verve

this City has robbed me of my feral joy
replaced it with
a dynamic of controlled movement
one place to another
all the same
sprawl
sameness
only the name differs

passengers with glass eyes
all silent
tongues like sandpaper
teenagers kissing in the corner
groping in the name of tectonic rightness
a little shift
and everything dies

in a moment of cruelty
it was all too easy
a beer can upside the head
faggot
and running
one shiver in the sameness
all dangerous
to tightly packed order

this place is breathing heavy
the tracks vibrating
a little metallic sex in public
holes in faces
in hearts
a click and a clack
wildness now ordered
to suit the days of the week
as we rush past it

a million hours
a million hours

because no one does
and no one will

Obsidian You

christ, but I was hollow

I thought touch was enough
between us
underneath us


I was wrong


I was on a mount
alone
mounted
and before me you cried
searched for me
cried

if I was a man
if I was struck dumb
blind

I would be nearer to you
shift my view
my point of view
I would feel nothing and it would be you

I would be you
I would be you

dripping down my face
you

you
only you
all you

obsidian obsession
only you

me but only you
you but nothing left of me

my name on your tongue
down your throat
swallowed christ, but I should die

you, blue eye
christ, but you too

Fire on the Mount

and the preachers preached

'the world;
she is ending.
See there,
fire in the trees, in the trees;
Fire.
Revelation.
God.
God's tongue.
Christ off the cross and looking to hammer some nails.'

bright orange flames licked the sky
off bough and branch
black smoke choked and chimed
and whirled into the horizon
like fingers reaching for the blotted out sun.
Son of God.
God's fingers.
Son of God, hair all fire.
A crown of burning thorns.

and the preachers sang

father are they coming for us?
do I hear angel's horns
or the sirens of ancient fire trucks?
Maybe salvation in the water
drowning in the river,
Baptize me in the name of nails,
Fire jump!
Fire jump the fire break,
Drop your gear and run, boy
drop your gear and run.

and the preachers cringe

they are burning knaves on the wooded edge
they are burning
and we are running
out running ash
falling from grace
falling from the fence line
and grace called our name
screamed
Fire!
Fire!
Look now,
Fire in my hands
in my eyes
all fire
Christ, but did it sting
tears streaming down my face
evaporating in the heated air
sand to glass and my feet bled
howling behind me
all flame with my name on its lips
Fiery lips with my name
my name
Firestorm
my name

standing in the pond
I saw them running
Preachers
hair on fire
God's wrath tasting their backs
nail in my hands
nails in my palms
soot painted on my eyelids

and the flames said
'I am Fire
and you are Wood.
I am the tongue of God.'

the sound deafened and flew over us
the world now orange
licking
underwater I saw it all
and know the name
inscribed on the sky
until the end of days
the black tracts of land
my home
my home now
in
Fire.

Christ,
just
say my name
and burn.

Vicious Poetry

with her hand clenched tight over my mouth
she reached down
and exacted a vicious poetry

syllables rang true only on her tongue
her hand tightening
as I tore through the moment

tore with teeth and lips
nothing trembled so much as vibrated
a million heartbeats every minute
every stuttering breath
melting

her eyes black pools
dead vortexes now fixated on my skin
pin-points of stars caught up in a futile field
eyelashes dipping into unseen seas

between small bones and lovers
her teeth ensnared my name
whispered in high-toned bells over silent sheets
she tricked my language with feverish fingers
until I revealed the last point of expectation and exertion

in the halting movements of stellar bodies
in between her words in dead languages
with the linear sweat between one world and the next
a seam opened in the void

and with her hand still on my mouth
I slipped my fingers in
and touched the shining face
of an exquisitely vengeful god

Drowning Days

You have that slow-drowning feeling to you.
I can feel your fingers around my ankles,
and you are pulling me down under perfectly calm blue-green waters.
Wrapping yourself around me like seaweed;
A slow wet hug squeezing the air out of my lungs.

You can breathe down here.
You can open your mouth and let the water flood in.
You live on the tiny microbes filling your belly.
Feed on their brief lives and snuff them out with your constant hunger.
Your eyes illuminate from the inside out so you can see in the darkest depths.
Your skin has turned to scales in these ebbing tides.

I, however, am drowning in your sweetness.
You are whispering "Ophelia" in my ear;
over and over and over again.
I can feel petticoats growing heavy around me;
these delicate chains of blue flowers twisting in my fingers.
I stare at the too clear sky and feel the water lapping at my cheeks.

"Ophelia... Ophelia...
He is crushing your heart;
pulling you down.
Can you not see his insanity,
bringing you to sandy ocean floors and rocky river bottoms?
Your body will flow over miles of sunken civilizations,
forever immortalized in sailors' hoarse-throated songs.
Ophelia... Ophelia...
You can not breathe water like air, girl..."

These ebbing tides that keep you alive with movement,
will eventually wash my body ashore.
My mouth full of pearls;
My eyes covered over in scales.
Your marshy touch will dress my body in cat-tails and swamp bugs;
Little brightly coloured fish will dart from my heart to my lungs.
Seabirds will nest in my hair in the filmy half light from deep unexplored pools.
I have become the shipwreck of your soul,
And those are pearls in my eyes.

Good night, sweet ladies.
Good night.
Good night.

A Precarious Situation

All the world waits,
humped over in silence.

The purring engine to the polemic mimicry,
of the universe doubts our existence.
We were never here,
and we argue over our importance.

The jungle breathes in the darkness,
caring not if we live or die.
Vegetation does not stop for instances of the mind;
It carries on eating up any rotting tissue in its way.

There is an eroticism to this rotting;
this disintegration of flesh, muscle, bone,
with the wet slipping of slimy bellied rats,
from one shore line to another.

"I did not think so many were undone."

Sitting on the river bank,
watching violet light seep into the ground water,
I ponder our undulations in the foreign lands,
eating up derivative elements of hard tasting candy.

The wind blows my hair to a moving crown,
and I wiggle my toes in the mud.

The jungle breathes;
Waits in silence for the world to end.
Waters lap at the shore of a timeless sea,
where pearls are little more than oceanic pebbles,
drifting into the eyes of dead sailors.

"Look! Those are pearls that were his eyes!"

The world waits;
Watching;
Breathless,
as the towers of ancient civilizations burn on the horizon,
with the shuttering rhythmic cry of over zealous demi-gods,
who undone so many.

The world holds it breath,
and the jungle shivers,
creeping over the long dead assimilations of an industrialized society.
Great machines of war mean nothing,
to the creeping vines,
and skittering beetles of the corpus genus,
who make their homes,
in burned out flesh.

In all of these wasted ironic mutations,
I lie naked,
watching the stars on a river bank,
dressed in the vestiges of a gluttonous race.

Each star winks at me with a pearl-like eye,
telling me the secrets of unused emotions,
vibrating from one existential relapse to another.

Each dead star brings me its light,
as a dim memory of another existence,
in a futile race to arms.

I slowly bury myself in the sexuality of mud,
like a cryogenic frog,
testing the limits of each wriggling limb,
and wait for the world to start all over again.

Lady Resurrection

I have you to thank for this,
for this empty room
where I have come and made my home

I remember thinking it looked comfortable
with these walls painted in blood and chocolate and late summer fruits
but I can't remember if I thought I wanted to spend my life here

Justice is useless, unneeded and impotent
but I have it nonetheless
retribution was in my teeth when I kissed you

You with an acidic mouth
a twisting disposition sure to twist away from me
totality swaying your head for me

Swaying, snake-like rhythm
our home in words
your page is mine and you know how to hurt me

The sound is closer now
the droning is filling up my head
I am kissing with all my teeth
and screaming with all my resurrection intact

I am the red queen
naked in your bed
a kingdom of crumpled sheets
at your feet
and my hair taking over the pillows

You stood in the corner
gently mouthing
'I made a mistake'

The mistake was made before you and I came here
and I have guarded it with all my armies
all my damned men still mine in God's eyes

I am a resurrection just for you
You called me Lady Returner
couldn't burn me out of the room
even when you turned your back
and hated me with all your heart

I can not see you
I never could
and the anger in me flew out
with great black wings
and shouted at the men below
until they clutched their heads
and crumpled to the ground

And what am I now but the vessel
the holy order of emptiness
marching into an angry dawn
with your name upon my lips
my feet pointed to oblivion
and my mind bent beyond the ever-loving tongue of God

A Textual Romance and a Passive Suicide

He plied me with words,
each more sweet than the last.
Every syllable tasted of pomegranate juice,
slipping down my chin and sticking to my lips.
My fingers were coated in the slickness of it;
I licked each digit,
savoring,
velvet tongue to softest skin.
Words like hands sliding over me,
into me,
through me.

He wrote me pages and pages of text;
miles of cursive verse,
extolling every little crevice of our twisting relationship.
The pages wrapped around me;
curling me in a blanket of intellectual dalliances.
His words slipped down my throat scratching all the way;
filling up my belly with swimming letters of jumbled importance.
I put my fingers down my throat and tossed them back up.

I stood in my kitchen with bottles of little words,
taking over the shelves like an invading army.
They spilled down the counters and puddled on the floor,
piling up in the corners, filling up the sink.
I searched through the clutter for milky jars of potent pills instead;
something to quiet the chittering,
and chattering,
of his textual romance,
in my swimming head.
I downed
onetwothreefourfive
and
onetwothreefourfive more;
Yes just like that.
Slid to the ground,
and cradled sentences of longing and love to my chest.
When those words turned bitter and the pomegranate turned to rot;
I poisoned myself in little ways with the love of a troubled man.

When I lie down,
close my eyes,
and commit my little passive suicide,
I sigh terribly;
because this never meant anything,
and words will never explain it.

Out Here She's Already Gone

my words
dipped in heat
and hesitation
come out
and spill down your neck
fevered
sticky
like my breath
all undone
and weak

but you have come here
for only one reason
need in your searching fingers
and open mouth
want shimmering down your limbs
slipping in and out of your mind
my face lost in the focus
of the moment
the skin
the sliding

sheets become landscapes
and words become useless
only breath and clutching
take up the air in here
i close my eyes
as you slip your hands into my hair
to hold me still
i seem to be vibrating in and out
of here
out of your urging
panting

'please stay here with me'

i am already gone
already fading
sighing down the wall
and onto the floor
my shadow finding the door
pulling me to the street below
in between the trees
and blackened out stars
like missing teeth
running jaggedly
outside among the towers
forever

you will feel better when I am gone
you just don't know it yet

Monstrous

Your skin
is eating my dreams
whole

Your teeth
like picket fences
bordering an infested world of unwanted images
of you
and your smiling
crooked at best
and always
moving

I
am a parting image
at the worst of times
with little meaning
embedded in your railroad righteousness
you have girls in your clutches
you want more
you want them bending
will and all to your needs
your textual sexuality

but you do not know
you are a ghost
an insect in the machine
you create a world you do not exist in
and write pages of uninteresting
extraneous language
for the joy
of little gods in uneven places

"I have the gun.
I am the superhero;
the anti-hero;
the man in the black coat;
I spit bullets,
and love hairless girls."
You are choking on importance,
visiting the earth under your thumb
crying at the injustice of it all
you reek of mortality
and birth nothing wanted

I, however,
am already swallowed by the Idea
I have come here
and I have laid down my life
for the right to the Idea
and I am one with the Word
and the Idea
and I am coming for you
to show you the way
to femininity and subservience
I will show you us
I will show you the token of being us
Our tokenism
Our words and works you choose not to read
and I will show you the way in a handful of flesh
because you are the Man
all importance and breeding
and you need direction more than I do

You are nothing without us
and I am coming for you
whether you like it or not

The Word

I wrote a single word upon his lips;
One Word--
--Vengeance.

And I kissed that Word,
worked it upon my tongue,
forcing it past his objections--
wetting the interior of his mouth,
and shoving it down his throat.

In my eyes he saw Hell;
In my face he saw will;
and in my hands he felt the force,
of what I had become.
Held the name of it with his fingertips,
and whispered it out loud--
--Evil.

"Are those snakes upon you?"
Serpents, my love;
Serpents with knowledge of your ills,
and your preference for pretty young things--
Firm tits under your hands,
round asses between your knees;
Wet mouths dripping with hunger,
and overt drug-induced pleas to fuck on the kitchen counter.

"And what are you, so darkened on this diatribe?"
Me? I am disillusionment with heavy breasts.
I am the weapon in sexuality.
I am the fear of intellectual aggressiveness.
I am the undelicate, the weighted, the unrest,
the opened-eyed antithesis to morality and concept.
I am the voodoo poet, the neurotic sex symbol,
the reverence for the systemic failure
of your little self-important world.
I am the Devil come to sit with you for lunch,
and talk about your house plants.

I am the one with the Word.
I am the one who has stored up that Word,
and given birth to the Idea of the Word--
I have taken the Word,
and molded it,
and fired it,
and breath'd life into it.
I have become the Word--
The Idea;
The moment when the Idea becomes the Word,
and forces itself upon your ears and lips and eyes.

And I am forcing it past his lips,
ending conversations and confessions--
Pleas and rebukes-- ending with the Word.
His eyes are rolling back in his head;
he is twirling his neck from side to side,
wide-eyed, mouth working, tongue flapping;
But I am now consumed in the Word,
coming out all sweet and dripping--
and with sticky fingers,
trailing along his shirt collar,
I leave him with the loss of the Word,
bleeding out onto the table.

And I am Vengeance,
with the Word firmly written upon her lips,
and a kiss too unspeakable to ever want.

Blueberries and Ash

I am hounded by your hands
my evil-throated man
the drumming of your fingers on my thighs
the beat of your breath in my ear
all madness

I have taken your unwillingness up in my mouth
rolled it over my tongue
swished it between my teeth
and spat it out again

you taste of blueberries and ash
remind me of my homeland
where the trees bent at my passing
the grass forming knots as I would go

you called me ice maiden
mad with the cold
you called me
the eternal virgin
and sent me on to arid pastures

you looped my hair over your fist
and held me there
mad eyes rolling, mad eyes
you stood on my hands
and tried to reach God

and I am throat
all calling and want
voice straining for Heaven
past your tilting mind
riding your last thought
to stars just above your head

body now my own
unfettered by your slipping grip
your bones under my heals
your neck at an impossible angle

you forever quiet
and me
with Sun in my mouth
rolling on eternal hills
in the Grace of the Ever Shining All

The Burden

He called my name;
--It made me shudder;
and stutter,
and try to say something important.

He, who was unguarded,
now had dogs at his feet.
He wanted me to bend over,
and do as he said.
He wanted to force himself into my mouth,
fill me with his importance,
his singular word,
--His seed; unerring his strength and malice.

I resisted the urge to bite down.
I resisted the urge to plunge something into his chest.
If I opened a hole in him,
he could feel what it was like to be penetrated;
He could feel what it was like to be a woman.
I could force the birth of his organs,
--and through pain he could know what it was to be us.

Us, weaker sex; us, stone around your neck;
You love to hate us; love to watch us under you.
Watch us on our knees- taking what you like,
what you see as order in the eyes of God;
Speak your word and we can have a place at your side.
You hate to love us; hate our tidal bodies and pointed stares.
Hate the word upon our lips,
our teeth set to free our sisters;
Latched to ship's poles we never break,
we know you and shut our eyes at your blows;
And you will never know how we birth'd our disdain,
and hid it behind our tongues.

And with his veiled dislike of my unfolding,
he forced me down, cooed my name;
Told me to run my hands over my eyes.
Said this was right;
This was a game of control,
but he offered no respect to that other sex,
read no fairer author, saw no art in the hands of delicate ease.
"I am man," he mouthed over my head,
and shoved his fingers past my lips.

--He called my name;
Burden,
and I turned away.

Lament of Gold

strange now
that I should be bore here
upon the backs of my countrymen
through golden fields
upon shoulders uplifted
that I once liberated

strange now
that I should be bore here
upon your soft hands
and silken breasts
carried on the scent
of your golden hair

strange because I had
wandered far from you;
far from this dawning land;
this holiest of holy homelands

I, who had seen the Pharaoh's
kneeling at Ra's pyramidic feet
I, who had watched
Druidean priests scurry up
giant mistletoe trees
I, who had accompanied
mad Arabs to the holy land
beyond Saladin's great city walls
I, who knew the sword of foreign nobility
and drove armies to the edges of the earth

strange because I had
fled from your hair and breathe
into the arms of Athenian whore mystics
seeking visions in the form of knowledge
and the taste of forbidden pomegranates
on my tingling tongue

I was unpracticed in you soft ways
I listened to the waves of foreign shores
for the voices of mimic gods drawing me forward
and outward
and I stayed my heart at your voice
your hands could not sooth my fettered mind;
my rattling soul jittering for great sails in blustering wind
and pounding horse hooves down dirt roads

your languid eyes could not hold me here
in the times of my youthful heart
and it is strange now that on the years of my death
I should find myself in your arms once more
those pools of eyes staring softly at me
as great and free men carry me over endless oceans
and rocky gates
to the glittering fields of my childhood
strange that your arms wrap as tightly around me now
as they did then
strange that your face has not changed in the intervening years
and I realize in these last dim moments
that I have heard your soft voice singing to me
all this time
across all these lands

you, who have drawn me back here
cradled me to your breast
and sang the hymns of a homeland
I had almost forgot
that my eyes should once more see
vast fields of gold on gold
and my body should flow onto this sandy shore
where children race down the beach
throwing their voices to the wind
and I could look upon your eyes
one last time
and see the mother of all this land
in your fading smile