Am I alone in obsessing over the fate of Astrolabe? -Martin Burns
Your nails still refuse to drag along my skin. Snow leopard. You... Your nails retracted, tongue curled, folded. Padding away into a mountains dark crevices. Where I, kokburu player, goat tosser extraordinaire, mad skier across Tuvan skies, lasso in hand and elk before me... am still not allowed to pursue. My rope whipping out, unanswered, quivering, inept.
So, riffing off Stay, a poem I wrote back in autumn. Curious what you think. I'm trying to work through some things... what love is all about, which is a rather large topic, how do we identify when we're in that state. Is it physical, can you love that which destroys you - is that … Continue reading Stay: Audio
What is the edge of love? One moment, solid ground. Then something... lost. Water rising through the earth this shifting landscape. That threshold of sleep, that hidden threshold. Is it water, contained by only dry continents... then, destroying their edges? Lapping. Eating Owning. The shore, a watery, drifting place... (a perfect toe dipped in. cool. … Continue reading “Stay”
Almost got to touch you, tonight. Caracal... you purr. Cat. Nails. Some light scratch. Tail slipping through grass. Almost got to touch you.
To be said, about love. Birthed in the shadow of the rock, a daughter of Tyre thou art my hiding place dozing, salamander curled, nose to tail, fire banked, ready for the warm breath of a lover on newly discovered flesh. … Continue reading There Is a Thing
I love like a leper. Putting all the odd bits and bobs of me out on a shelf, an eye, an ear, a favored toe. Hobbling about on twinned islands, made for lamed people like us. Painting other's faces with mercury, gazing with one longing good eye across the strait, from our baths of virgins … Continue reading I Cannot Love Like a Leper
Broken. All my words broken. Asunder and cracking. A slinger hurling stone against my forehead, Breaking me. I had one language; and this I began to do: Nothing was restrained from me, which I had imagined to do. Now, my thoughts, like a people speaking the same language, scattered. You came down. Confounded my language. … Continue reading Nimrod’s Lips
A mail carrier, a postie, a letter carrier Walked into a bar. Smittie wiped his rag slowly down the bar, one eye on the newcomer, the other in the mirror, debating how he'd parted his hair that morning. (It had been a tortuous argument, between him and himself, the comb dancing from left side to … Continue reading Dead Loving Office
You hit me / like Boal / hit women. My love. Imagine my surprise.