In the autumn, with leaves burning, safety as children running embers floating in the air. And I am burning leaves again. The tulips i pulled from your garden how you say me hiding, behind our pine. Eyes wide. Knowing that you were one person. And about to become another. How. You. Yelled. And how it … Continue reading Burning Autumn
Category: poetry
When We are brave
When we are brave enough we are not present we are simply in a wrong moment Between key strokes and dramatic elipsing lays our raging moments, against the dying of the light And we feed our platform as it feeds on us, our bravery (our sex) is stroking keys and raging at random moments
Heisenberg’s Waiting Room
There are moments when you are alone in a place of human geography peopled with many strangers, and every one of them - looking at you in side glances - knows you and your heart And there is no water, Just this folding weight that crushes you into a small point. And this universe spinning … Continue reading Heisenberg’s Waiting Room
Dominion
I held your hand as you sighed, chest heaving caving and rising, that old cadence, that old chestnut rag. "God is a bastard, a true SOB," I told you, patting at the sweat breaking beads on your brow. "Your mother won't tell me about it, because vows and such." But I can see it, in the … Continue reading Dominion
Intelligentsia SandM
"It makes my panties wet, When you get literary like that" So I locked eyes with her, And out rolled... "Proust"
Quick Sand
Wallace Stevens quickened at 46. I may yet make order on some beach or another.
spring flingin’
This is just to say that I am in the back yard there's a red breasted robin feeding 5 feet away, a woodpecker upside down at the same feeder and a burning red cardinal sitting not far above. Their songs call back and forth, as far in the distance a hawk beats wings towards the … Continue reading spring flingin’
(zero attribute)
i keep thinking that there's this room i'm supposed to be in and it's all white and glowing a little, and my gown is matching and my knees are up to my chest my head is shaven and my feet are bare. and everything is finished for me now
Heart in England
I had a heart when I was in England Heart in England, morning runs through cemeteries racing with Mary's ghost, merging with the mist amongst the cenotaphs, vaporous fingers tracing ancient names on leaning tombstones, and tracing sweat along my chest as this American boy pumped legs round and round, lighter then, lithe even, leaping … Continue reading Heart in England
tremble
your breath with mine your fingers in mine tremble the illicit heat the catching passion this public space this intimate touch tremble your back arching under my palm that presses, pushes guides and holds you neck straining under my mouth, aching your motions, your cries tremble the flushing skin, the nails in skin. release tremble
Writer Moe 