The first kiss,and you as a conductor, your fingers pulling at mine,onto the train and into the night,curving over mountains, through tunnels Steam turning electric,currents passing through me, burning and blindingyour fingers curled in mine,a journey without end
Sometimes, when I am flying through the sky, I watch a shadow of my ship dragging across the backs of a scudding cloud. I am my body lain along you, the curls and whips of white: your back, curving and drifting with me. shadows of my nails drawing up along your skin, tracing through your curving, … Continue reading Stratocumulus
My name is an ending, surname, derived from the Latin "Martinus". (A gift from a father lost, failing beneath my powerless hands). I am dedicated to war not poetry no not that, not some clinking at keys, rather, clinking at bullets, slotting them into clips, ready for their magazines, not 'zines, not some dumb rags, covered … Continue reading Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
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
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
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
You hit me / like Boal / hit women. My love. Imagine my surprise.