Washing Language | Миття мови | Tongue washing

First We are all thinking of Ukraine we are all wearing gold and blue we are translating this to Ukrainian Google translate and back to English again Strange English strange Ukrainian Strange dreams Lumps littering Bucha’s streets Lumps littering evacuation routes Strange language Strange lumps And this swelling need —the whisper, the wind across the … Continue reading Washing Language | Миття мови | Tongue washing

Now We Are Cold

Autumn, drying leaves, fallen apples rotting underfoot, sullen teens attending to bitter, underloved instructors. The horses at their paces, steamed breath pressed out from heated tunnels into colder air, like a dying dragon's last smoke flowing from within buried caverns. This bitter liver, swollen, the dull right ache. Lager and cider - wet blankets for … Continue reading Now We Are Cold

The Sixteenth

This kiss,this aching rod - ash turned and turned,wood piercing world: axis mundi, the stars spinning, damp cobwebs catchingreflected light, draped across torn skin -the blood which drips, the soil which fed, these buried lips, stirring,Pando shaking, aching, this stirring wood

Any Moment Now

Might be something by Eno, might be music, really waves drawing back along stones, the wet revealing unpolished fragments and razor clam shells exposed, slicing Jagged foot paths - curved, aimless, unEnglish-garden-style, the fog covering the means and ways, that cut and bruise, draw sacrificial blood with each step Lost, alone in weird thoughts, a … Continue reading Any Moment Now

FIFTEENTH

This kiss, then.Now and then, forgotten. This rain washing, time.Remembered in echoing moments.This lost, mad, wild haired king, moans - winds low-bellied, deep in brush.A crucified stag.The madman nailed and hung himselfagainagainandagainNebuchadnezzar growling, trapped in brambles, hanging, engorged, wild eyed.Ready. Resigned.Willing.

Fourteen

King Ram, a brideless exile, stalked by shades in the silent wood.Set, to rip a godinto 14 perfect pieces, reverentlywithin the Minotaur’s gates.Hot bull’s breathupon a shoulder, the burning teeth and limbs entwining.Now lifting an acacia lance, bodies unformed and reforming.Bull’s lusty urges, birthing onethe gift received, the life unfolding.The life unfolded, failing.The heated kiss, … Continue reading Fourteen

The Twelth

This kiss, this sun on skin,breaking leaves give way to heavy steps.This path a mirrored dream,These brambles rip, tear - kiss. The broken skin, sky ripping. Shouting. Crackling.                  Burning.My mind full of an echoing shout:your words a scornful lecture, fading.The distant voices. The chorus of morning.